Star Fox: Legacy ::Archived Edition::
by chaos Leader
Summary: This story is being almost completely rewritten from the ground up. I am keeping this version of the story here for the purposes of hanging onto the reviews, and for the curiosity of the interested reader. You'll be able to see how much I'm improving.
1. Prologue

**Attention Reader:**

This story is currently in the process of a massive rewriting overhaul. These first 10-12 chapters in particular no longer reflect my current command of narrative, character, setting or plot as a storyteller. So I am going back and completely redoing all the parts I screwed up, hard; a total uproot and replanting. Bear in mind though, a lot of material from this actually _second_ edition of _Star Fox: Legacy_ will probably end up in the new-and-further-improved version, but there will be some major structural shifts.

Believe me when I say that I'm doing this for all you guys and gals out there, you deserve the best I can deliver. I know can do better than what I've done here, because I _have_ done so much better since. Thanks to all who've stuck with the story this far, but it's about to get totally revamped here, and I don't aim to disappoint.

* * *

_The truth may be puzzling. It may take some work to grapple with. It may be counterintuitive. It may contradict deeply held prejudices. It may not be consonant with what we desperately want to be true. But our preferences do not determine what's true._

_We have a method, and that method helps us to reach not absolute truth, only asymptotic approaches to the truth — never there, just closer and closer, always finding vast new oceans of undiscovered possibilities... _

-Carl Sagan-

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Late in the the year of 1977 on Earth's Gregorian calendar, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration of the United States of America, NASA, launched a pair of unmanned spacecraft. They were Voyager I and Voyager II respectively. Their mission was a simple one: fly by and photograph certain planets in Earth's native solar system. After the completion of this mission however, the two spacecraft continued into the infinite reaches of deep space.

For several years afterward, the Voyager space probes continued their lonely sojourn, sending whatever scrap of data they could find back to the distant planet Earth, just as they were designed to. Then sometime in the year 2027, after nearly half a century of continuous operation, Voyager I's thermoelectric generator was no longer able to sustain sufficient power. The dying machine's distant creators on Earth gave Voyager I its last command: it was ordered to shut down, and allowed to drift through the cold black emptiness of space...

[The following is a selection of excerpts from Carl Sagan's _Pale Blue Dot._]

_Their radio transmitters long dead, the spacecraft will wander for ages in the calm, cold interstellar blackness – where there is almost nothing to erode them. Once out of the Solar system, they will remain intact for a billion years or more, as they circumnavigate the center of the Milky Way galaxy..._

_Space is nearly empty. There is virtually no chance that one of the Voyagers will ever enter another solar system – and this is true even if every star in the sky is accompanied by planets. The instructions on the record jacket, written in what we believe to be readily comprehensible scientific hieroglyphics, can be read, and the contents of the records understood, only if alien beings, somewhere in the remote future, find Voyager in the depths of interstellar space. Since both Voyagers will encircle the center of the Milky Way galaxy essentially forever, there is plenty of time for the records to be found – if there's anyone out there to do the finding..._

_We do not know whether there are other spacefaring civilizations in the Milky Way. If they do exist, we do not know how abundant they are, much less where they are. But there is at least a chance that sometime in the remote future one of the Voyagers will be intercepted and examined by an alien craft..._

_We cannot know how much of the records they would understand. Surely the greetings will be incomprehensible, but their intent may not be. (We thought it would be impolite not to say hello.) The hypothetical aliens are bound to be very different from us – independently evolved on another world. Are we really sure they could understand anything at all of our message?..._

_But being much more advanced scientists and engineers than we – otherwise they would never be able to find and retrieve the small, silent spacecraft in interstellar space – perhaps the aliens would have no difficulty understanding what is encoded on these golden records. Perhaps they would recognize the tentativeness of our society, the mismatch between our technology and our wisdom. Have we destroyed ourselves since launching Voyager, they might wonder, or have we gone on to greater things?..._

_Far from home, untouched by these remote events, the Voyagers, bearing the memories of a world that is no more, will fly on._

[End Excerpts]

A machine does not know time, especially in the unfathomable vacuum between stars. Some machines know seconds, minutes, hours, and even years. But for a machine, it does not make a difference whether time has passed for an instant, or for an entire geologic eon. All that matters to a machine is to function as it is told to.

After such an immeasurable length of time, the spacecraft Voyager I was given a feed of its electrical life-blood and revived from its eternal slumber to perform it's most solemn function.

"There, you see Professor? I told you I could get this contraption to work."

"Well let's see it, Mr. Andross."

Voyager carried a golden phonograph record encoded with images, sounds, and words, along with the means by which to decode and observe the data. With some degree of difficulty, a pair of scientists – one older, and another quite young – were able work out the methods by which it was all operated.

"The screen Dr. Al'Sayif! Look at it –the text, it's... it's in our language!"

"That's impossible Enos. Explorers found this thing stuck orbiting a star light-years from Lylat, well away from us. That's what they told me anyway."

_[This Voyager spacecraft was constructed by the United States of America. We are a community of 240 million human beings among the more than 4 billion who inhabit the planet Earth. We human beings are still divided into nation states, but these states are rapidly becoming a single global civilization.] _

"No, that's Cornerian alright. But it keeps referring to 'humans' and 'Earth' and 'United States of America. I don't think I've ever heard of these things, have you?"

"Hmph, its probably nothing more than a sick prank."

Voyager doesn't care what others think of its message, all that matters is to function as it is told to.

_[We cast this message into the cosmos. It is likely to survive a billion years into our future, when our civilization is profoundly altered and the surface of the Earth may be vastly changed. Of the 200 billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy, some-perhaps many-may have inhabited planets and spacefaring civilizations. If one such civilization intercepts Voyager and can understand these recorded contents, here is our message:]_

_[This is a present from a small distant world, a token of our sounds, our science, our images, our music, our thoughts, and our feelings. We are attempting to survive our time so we may live into yours. We hope someday, having solved the problems we face, to join a community of galactic civilizations. This record represents our hope and our determination, and our good will in a vast and awesome universe.]_

_[James Carter, President of the United States of America, June 16, 1977.]_

"There's more?"

"Oh yes Professor, lots more. The backside of this disc looks like it should work too."

"Well Enos, this is either the most profound discovery in our history, or the most elaborate practical joke in our history."

"On the bright side, Professor: it's history either way."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

あなたはこの物語を知っています。_  
__You know this story..._

一応、果てを知っています。_  
Or at least you know how it ends._

It ends in bloodshed across worlds.  
It ends in utter devastation, both tangible and emotional.  
It ends with the event that defined an era.

この物語は全体を始めました。_  
This is the story that started it all..._

It is a nebulous tale – hinted at, but never fully explored.  
It is a sequence of events so often taken for granted, that must work out somehow.  
It is one of the greatest stories never told...

Until now.

ライラット系の物語を語るつもりです。_  
I will tell you the story of the Lylat System:_  
I will show you how it worked, how it faltered and at last, failed.  
I will show you the politics, economics and society that drove it.  
I will show you its people, with hopes, dreams and problems of their own...

スターフォックスの物語を語るつもりです。_  
I will tell you the story of Star Fox:_  
I will show you how it all began, how it nearly ended.  
I will show you why the villains fell to their faults,  
And how the heroes rose to the challenge...

ジェームズ・マクラウド の物語を語るつもりです。_  
I will tell you the story of James McCloud:_  
I will show you how he lived, how he loved...  
I will show you how he fought, won, lost...  
And at the end of all things:  
I will show you his fate.

の遺産の物語を語るつもりです。_  
I will tell you the story of the Legacy... _

* * *

Author Notes:

I understand that this is a huge-ass piece of writing, well over 170k words now. I started it a really long time ago, and my skills, along with my writing quality, have steadily improved since then. The first ten chapters or so, despite my going back and overhauling them many times, are still a little tough to chew on compared to later chapters, so consider yourself warned in that department. If you're still not sure about reading this, you're welcome try a "free sample" by checking out the oneshot _Lombardi's,_ which is considerably shorter and less time-consuming than this big-ol' honker of a story.

Despite the rumors you might've heard out there, I don't bite... Okay, that's a lie, but I don't bite often, or too hard, usually... So anyway, feel free to throw a little feedback my way if you're so inclined, compliments, comments, critiques and criticisms are all welcome (trust me on this, the authors _really_ appreciate it).

About the Japanese:  
If you're interested, you'll find a detailed and comprehensive explanation behind the story's Japanese title 「スター フォックスの遺産」 and brief use of the language in my user profile (don't worry, I only use Japanese in this chapter).

But that's enough from me, on to the _real _story!


	2. A New Policy

**スター フォックスの遺産 **

**Star Fox: Legacy**

-

* * *

-

_**A New Policy**_

The vast, cavernous auditorium was dark; the only light in the space came from the booth in the back as a technician fiddled with a projector. Once the device was working, the murmuring of the audience faded into silence as a message was projected onto the screen.

_Welcome to the Corneria City Museum of Natural History, your presentation will begin shortly. Please take this time to deactivate your personal comm units and any other disruptive hand-held devices._

The words changed after a few seconds.

_Thank you for your patience, enjoy the presentation._

As a dreamy orchestral piece flowed from the auditorium's sound system, a star-speckled background faded onto the projector screen. Once the image was completely faded in, the deep voice of a narrator rolled into the space.

"The Galaxy is a vast place, full of bizarre phenomena, fantastic formations and an infinity of possibilities beyond the scope of any imagination. It is truly amazing that life as we know it can find its way among the stars at all."

The background began zooming in on a spiral galaxy.  
"More amazing still, is how luckily we have been placed in this Galaxy."

An image of a planetary star system appeared on the screen, a binary one. The main star was a bright yellow sphere halfway through its life. The dwarf companion star was so small, so dim, and with an absurdly tight orbit of its own which made it seem more like a smoldering red planet than a true star. A majority of the actual planets in this system shared a single, unified orbit – all equidistant from the yellow star and its diminutive companion.  
"This is the Lylat System, a very unique portion of the galaxy, unique in that it is our home..."

The image began to show a sequence of planets.  
"Nowhere else known in the Galaxy do so many habitable worlds share the same star-system, so close together."

The image zoomed out of the solar system to show a small portion of the spiral galaxy. To provide a visual representation of habitable worlds, flashing dots were placed on this section of galactic map. The dots were few and scattered except for a cluster at the center of the screen – the Lylat System.

"This great number and proximity of livable worlds helped the Lylat System to thrive in our early space-faring history; jump-starting such advances as graviton diffusion technology, hyperspace vector drives, and quantum communication."

As the narrator listed Lylat's greatest achievements, the projector screen presented an all encompassing example: images of modern Lylatin spacecraft.

"With such advancement, we are now on the very cusp of reaching out of our small slice of existence, and into the infinite universe beyond. Already, we have established our very first interstellar colony outside Lylat..."  
The screen showed a pair of planets orbiting a different star – both lush, full of life, and in close proximity as the two worlds danced around their respective orbits.  
"...But the Cerinia project is only the beginning, a first step into the limitless cosmos taken together by all sovereign worlds of Lylat."

"Yet even as we set our sights across the stars, we must not forget where we come from."

The image faded to show a blue planet orbiting around a blazing yellow-orange star.  
"This is Corneria: fourth planet of the Lylat star system, and one of the most important planets to all of greater Lylat."

The image dove into the planet to reveal a lush landscape of rolling foothills backed by snow capped-mountains.  
"Not only is this beautiful planet the seat of the Lylat Union Congress, it is also home to the most prestigious universities, and headquarters of several major interplanetary business. Many of which are located right here in the capitol, Corneria City: the most advanced municipality in this part of the System."  
The image continued to zoom to a very large and well-built metropolis on the shores of a great ocean.

"We here at the Corneria City Museum of Natural History thank you for choosing us, we hope you enjoy your visit to the finest centers of knowledge Lylat has to offer. Who knows? Perhaps one day, you too could be recorded in history."

-

-----

-

The screen went dark and the lights faded up, revealing the details the of auditorium once shrouded in darkness. The space was full of children of varying genus and species, many of whom were more than anxious to get out of their seats and start a ruckus. There were a few pig kids, some dog, most of the common species and several others were present in the crowd. A few adults stood among them doing their best to keep the rowdy mass in order, but the chaperons weren't used to handling a group on this scale, and they let their guard down...

A fox boy with a light-brown fur tone quietly slunk between the rows of seats toward the auditorium's exit. His clothes were cheap and plain, just the same as the rest of the children. And like the others, he bore a nametag on his chest, his reading: _James McCloud, Corneria City Orphanage, District #3_.  
When the orphanage chaperons finally subdued the restless riot of children, they found their headcount was one short...

The fox boy rushed out of the museum's entrance and onto a busy sidewalk in downtown Corneria City. The buildings on either side of the street stood several-hundred floors high, and the streets were crammed with cars, trucks and other vehicles raging through the narrow street between the buildings. The sidewalk was jam-packed with innumerable pedestrians, most of which paid little attention to the little vulpine child as he sidled between them.

Little James McCloud was free, out in the open and away from the stifling mob of orphans. The bustling streets of Corneria City were always an excellent place to get lost in, especially when one got away from the main streets as little James intended. He wasn't going back to that dirty, dank and poorly funded orphanage again: the world, no –the whole galaxy was his to explore. For starters James was going to rush down this next street before the clueless orphanage staff could figure out what to do when a child goes missing.

Before making his getaway, James McCloud looked longingly into the sky –up to all the spacecraft flying across the clear sky overhead, and wondered for a moment where they were all heading...  
A shout at the museum's entrance jolted the boy from his daydream, then he dashed along the concrete walkway to wherever it would take him.

-

* * *

-

A small, worn courier craft -no more than ten meters in length and armed only with a small turret- descended carefully into Corneria City airspace. Its name was printed on its battered hull: Dionysus. In the cramped and cluttered main cabin of the spaceship Dionysus, a brother and sister raccoon pair argued.

"You sure this job is a good idea, Rick?..."  
The question came from the sister raccoon clad in a unbuttoned heavy workshirt over her formfitting tanktop. She was in the pilot's seat, giving the Dionysus enough encouragement to make it to the ground in one piece as she pressed her brother for information.  
"Since when does Lylat Central Intelligence ever hire the likes of _us?_ To break into a University Professor's _office_ of all things."

Rick, the brother raccoon, was sitting on a nearby bench in the cabin, loading a variety of infiltrator's equipment into a backpack, or concealing the gadgets the ordinary jeans-and-hoody outfit he wore. One of the devices malfunctioned hen he tested it, which the brother tossed it aside and quietly cursed himself for.  
"Look sis, we need the money to eat, to keep this flying hunk of junk space-worthy. We need the money to live at all, and if the cash isn't going to come from our usual clients, I'll gladly take taxpayer credits to feed us..."  
Rick stood up and fiddled with a small blaster before replacing it in a hidden holster under his shoulder.  
"So yes Rachelle, I do think this job is a 'good idea.'~"

"Feed us!?"  
The sister was not amused.  
"We could do that just _fine_, if it weren't for you and your trashy gambling debts!"

In her disgust, Rachelle jammed the throttle forward, straining the limits of the ramshackle spacecraft. The jolt from the sudden acceleration knocked Rick on his back.  
"And don't start that whole 'Big Brother' routine on me! You were only born ten minutes before me. That doesn't make you any more mature than me, that makes us _twins_. Got it?"

Rick shifted himself upright and gathered what little dignity he had left.  
"Easy on the thrusters, sis! I just fixed the engine again last week~"

Something important-sounding in the back of the cabin clanked, screeched and hissed defiantly against Rick's insistence. Rachelle eased back the throttle and quickly threw back a look only a sister could give a brother.  
"Next time, _I'll_ fix this flying trash heap."

-

* * *

-

Now trailed by a persistent little line of smoke, the rickety little craft Dionysus precariously touched down on a public landing plot in a run-down area of Corneria City. The plot was packed with a wide variety of spacecraft: some large, some one-man craft, some flashy, and others -like the Dionysus- in barely space-worthy condition. Once safely grounded, the little craft's boarding ramp dropped exhaustedly to the ground. An abashed raccoon man was ejected from the spacecraft down the ramp, and was followed by a few scornful words from his sister.

"And for once, don't come back empty-handed!"

Rick gave a sigh as he glanced back at the battered spaceship, and then crossed the landing plot to the street.

-

* * *

-

Little James had always been intensely interested in spacecraft, so it was only natural to find him entering what to him, must have been a paradise: a public landing plot jam-packed with most kinds of space-faring vehicles imaginable. On his way in, James passed a raccoon man heading out, he gave the boy a rather perplexed look and continued on his way. No matter, with so much freedom to do as he chose, it was impossible for the little vulpine boy to contain himself. He must have spent hours browsing the many vessels in the landing plot, watching ships take-off and touch-down; it was an afternoon well-spent in his eyes. James was disappointed however that he couldn't get _inside_ any of the craft on the plot, except for the one little courier craft he was now standing in front of.

The temptation was too great for him...

-

* * *

-

The hallways of the Corneria City University faculty offices were deserted, it was time to act...

Rick double-checked to make sure he was alone, then went to work. He started by rigging the security camera –a simple matter of freezing the output signal. After that, it was on to the door, The lock was poorly encrypted and opened easily with a little encouragement. Rick slipped into the room, then closed and re-locked the door before anyone outside could notice.

The office seemed typical enough: window in the back, cluttered desk, a few memoirs, stack of papers ...particle accelerator? This man was definitely a nanophysics professor. With his surroundings noted, Rick sat at the desk, booted up the computing terminal and prepared to log-in, as long as the password he was given worked...

+++Password...+++

+++[*******] [Enter]+++

+++Welcome Dr. Andross+++

...It worked. With access granted, Rick rummaged his pockets for something, pulled a data-disk from the inside of his jacket and loaded it into the proper drive. This next part took a little while...

...After an hour or so, the raccoon had one hand on the terminal's controls, and the other supported his head. He'd been sifting through databank after databank of nanophysics course material, right up until he found something big. Rick sat up and dropped his jaw slightly as he read a portion of these new notes~

_*Crack*_

The raccoon flinched at the noise. It was the office door, someone was trying to ram it in~

_*Crack*_

And it sounded like they meant business. Rick found the data he was looking for, so he downloaded the files into the disk and~

_*Crack*_

~very quickly ejected it from the drive. In one movement, the raccoon replaced the disk in his hoody-jacket and drew his small blaster. The door was out-of-the-question as an escape, so he backed to the window and tried to open it... only to find it stuck~

_*Crack*  
*Crash*_

The office door was forced open.

Rick panicked, shot the window out, and jumped –followed immediately by a volley of hostile blaster-fire. It was a two-floor drop from the window to the ground below, but this raccoon was no stranger to the art of running for it. This included dropping two floors, rolling on impact without so much as a scratch, then getting up and running again.

Corneria City University was a fairly typical campus; the buildings were separated by lawns with walkways between them. These were occupied by several students whose classes had just ended when a raccoon man sprinted across the campus grounds. Rick had put a lot of distance between him and his would-be captors with his jump, but they still pursued him, occasionally firing on the burglar when they could get a clear shot. Now that he could make out who was after him, Rick could see that they were not police or any other official force; and it slowly dawned on him just how incriminating this data could be.

-

* * *

-

Rachelle had used the time her brother was away to perform a few desperately needed repairs to the Dionysus. She knelt on the floor where she had removed a floor panel, half-burying herself in the mysterious inner workings of the little ship's engine. She'd occasionally pull something out of a grubby tool bag, or grumble to herself.

"That _idiot,_ he didn't even use proper thread sealant on the cooling hoses. It's a miracle they've lasted this long at all..."

Rachelle rummaged her hand through the tool-bag, extracted a roll of plumber's tape, a wrench, and set about correcting her brother's mechanical mistakes...

"What are you doing?"

"What the _Fortuna?!~_"

_*Clonk*_

A dull clonk echoed through the cabin as Rachelle nearly knocked herself out on a bulkhead. Slightly dazed and rubbing her head, she emerged from the engine-cavity to find a little fox boy eyeing her curiously.

"How did you..."  
Rachelle didn't need an answer when she spotted the open boarding ramp. She replaced the floor panel, and tried another question.  
"What's your name?"

"James..."  
His innocent blue eyes wandered around the cabin space, hypnotized by the technology around him.  
"How fast does your spaceship go?"

"On a good day, it can reach speeds~"  
Is he supposed to be that thin? Is he being fed enough? She stopped herself.  
"Wait, do your parents know you're here James?"

"Don't have any..."  
The little vulpine boy found Rachelle's tool bag, and fished out a handheld arc micro-welder.  
"What's this thing do?"

"Hey, careful with that! It's dangerous!"  
Rachelle snatched the tool out of Jame's hand, and saw the orphanage nametag on his chest.  
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were~"

She was interrupted by a barrage of blaster-fire outside, followed by her brother's frantic voice.  
"Quick Sis, get this tin can ready to fly!"

The young fox boy squeezed Rachelle's hand, startled by the noise and fearful voices.  
"What's happening?"

She as another volley of blaster-fire sailed past the open entrance of the ship.  
"Hurry, go find somewhere safe okay James?"

The boy nodded and ran off...

Worn-out from his long sprint, Rick scrambled backward up the boarding ramp of the Dionysus, all the time keeping his eyes and small blaster trained on his pursuers. His dull clothes had a few scorched patches where he must have been hit.  
"Sometime this _century_ would be nice!"

With the return of her brother, Rachelle jumped into the pilot's seat and started the takeoff sequence as quickly as the temperamental little craft would let her. In the meantime, Rick took as much cover as he could and still provide something along the lines of covering fire.  
"They're closing in on us! _Get us out of here!_"

Rachelle wrestled with the the Dionysus' dubious controls as she replied to Rick.  
"I'm doing the best I can bro! I only need you to hold them off for a few more seconds!"

At a key point in her routine, the pilot carefully and precisely hammered her fist onto the dashboard, forcing the engine to sputter and whine back to life. With the Dionysus in a functional state once again, Rachelle closed the boarding ramp behind her brother and jammed the takeoff throttle, flinging the little craft into the sky. Staggering under the sudden acceleration, Rick holstered his blaster and clambered into the gunner's nest of the Dionysus.

They weren't out of this yet.

-

-----

-

The little spacecraft was chased relentlessly into space by a few interceptor-fighter craft keen on stopping the Dionysus. Rachelle shouted to her brother over the combined noise of laser-fire and the labored, gasping roar of the tiny spacecraft's engines.

"Who did you upset to have this much trouble sent our way?!"

Rick answered bursts fired the turret against the pursuing foes.  
"They're not Cornerian, that's for sure. If I had to guess I'd say they're private mercenaries~"  
The little craft lurched with the blast of a laser-hit.  
"...pretty shady ones too."

Rachelle's gaze followed a mangled wreck of a fighter-craft sail passed the cockpit window.

"Hired by a _scientist?_ I told you there was something weird about this job Rick!"

The other two remaining hostile fighters broke off their pursuit when their wingman was destroyed, leaving the Dionysus to itself. Once the pursuers were well out of range, Rachelle finally pulled back on the throttle and put the craft in a parking orbit over Corneria.

Rick climbed out of the gunner's nest tired, maybe injured, and into the embrace of his much relived sister...  
"We made it bro!"

...which the brother fondly returned.  
"You weren't _worried_ about me, were you Sis?"

Their moment of fraternal bliss was interrupted by a frightened little voice...  
"Are they gone?"

The two raccoons found Little James McCloud huddled in a corner of the cabin, trembling. They stood still for a second, until the still shaking James let out a sniffle. Rachelle then went to comfort the boy.  
"James, I thought I told you to go somewhere _safe_."

James hugged the raccoon woman tightly.  
"I thought it was safe here, with _you… _cause it.. it wasn't safe out _there._"  
The young vulpine boy tried desperately to hold back the fearful stammering...

Rachelle returned the little boy's embrace, soothing him with the close, intimate contact.  
"It's okay James, you're safe _now_ at least."

Rick was still little confused by the whole situation.  
"Rachelle, who in _space_ is this kid?"

Rachelle glanced up and remembered her brother awkwardly sanding there.  
"Oh, uh, Well... between the _repairs,_ then all the _action_… never mind."  
She stood up, quickly composed herself, and began the introductions.

"Rick, this is James... McCloud."  
After looking at the little boy's nametag.

She then spoke

"My name is Rachelle Cooney" indicating herself. "and this is my brother, Richard Cooney, but he prefers just being called 'Rick'."

The brother extended a hand to the boy.  
"Pleased to meet you kid..."  
When James took it, Rick helped him onto his feet.  
"Any friend of my sis is a friend of mine."

The Cooney brother thought fast, he had much more to talk about with his sister, and the kid wandering in only complicated things... James let out a weary, exhausted yawn; the boy could barely stand on his feet as it was...

Rick had an idea.  
"There's a bed in the sleeping cabin kid, why don't you get some rest?"

The raccoon put an arm on Jame's shoulder and led him into a tiny room off the main cabin. It was furnished only with a dirty little end table and bare, built-in bunks. Rick set the boy on the bunk and did his best to tuck little James in.  
"You just sleep, okay pal? We'll be just outside."

Once the boy was close enough to sleep, Rick exited the minuscule sleeping cabin and closed the door behind him.

Rachelle was standing just outside, Rick rubbed his brow and looked up at his sister.  
"Sis, we need to talk."

The two made their way toward the cockpit while they spoke.

"About what bro? James?"

"Well, yes... but later."  
The raccoon took a deep breath in preparation for a long explanation.  
"Do you have any idea what we were hired for? What we were _really_ sent into Corneria City University for?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Rachelle decided not to call her brother on it.  
"No, I really don't."

Rick stopped walking when they got to the cockpit.

"Neither did I... until I got this."  
He presented the small data-disk from his mission and inserted in into the cockpit's computing terminal before going on.  
"That office I broke into, it belongs to none other than Dr. Enos Andross."

"_The_ Dr. Andross? The Voyager guy?"  
Rachelle was flabbergasted.

"The one-and-only."  
Rick pulled up an article on the terminal...  
"It looks like he's been up to some really messed-up with some of his research. I thought an egghead like him wouldn't bother with these kind of 'fake science' things."

"Does it have anything to do with his Voyager obsession?"

"I can't really see how..."  
Rick looked over more of Andros's notes...  
"I mean look at these: electrokinesis, gravitomagnetism, ocular telepathy... the list of odd words just goes on and on."

Rachelle took the pilot's seat.  
"Whatever bro, we've gotta get this to our contact in Lylat Central Intelligence, where'd he say he'd meet us?"

"Colonel Cotton?... at the Birse Military Academy on Katina."  
Rachelle began entering the warp coordinates.  
"Hold on sis, we're not going _anywhere_ until we talk about the kid."

She stopped, took her hands away from the controls, and looked out into space,  
"Alright bro, what is it?"

Failing to think of an easier way, Rick took the direct approach...  
"We have to take him back."

The Cooney sister took a breath, but otherwise concealed her emotions. Rick continued...  
"I saw his orphanage tag, if we're seen _anywhere_ with him, we get bagged for kidnapping unless we return him to his orphanage."

Rachelle, looking for loopholes had to ask, "What if we officially adopt him?"

Rick shut that line of action down...  
"You know we can't do that, between my debts and our legal status, it's a wonder we're not imprisoned, or dead. There's no way we'd qualify for adoption."

There was a cold, tense silence between them, the only sounds were the gentile grumbling of the engine and the dusty wheezing of computing equipment. Rachelle simply sat in the pilot's seat and watched the stars, a clear indicator that she was simply blocking her emotions. The Cooney brother leaned closer to Rachelle and spoke as gently as he could, lest she snap back in anger.

"After we're done with the LCI contact, we'll bring the kid back to the orphanage where he came from, and we'll be on our way. I'm sorry sis, but there's just _nothing_ else we can do for the kid..."

Rachelle slowly got out of the pilot's seat and paced gently to the sleeping cabin, all the while keeping the lid tightly sealed on her emotions. Whatever internal struggles Rachelle had, Rick decided it was best to let his sister figure them out on her own for now.

Now alone in the cockpit, the raccoon turned back to the controls, gazed helplessly into space, and finished entering the warp coordinates.

-

-----

-

In the small sleeping cabin, Rachelle found young James fast asleep on the bottom bunk, tightly clasping a pillow in his arms. Doing her best not to wake the boy, she carefully climbed into the bed with him. Once comfortable, she removed the pillow from the boy's grasp –his little arms found the Rachelle's waist and decided it was a reasonable substitute for the pillow. Rachelle -Having placed the pillow behind her- was moved by the boy's subconscious affection. She gratefully returned the favor with a tender embrace. If little James had woken up, he must've gone right back to sleep. After some time, Rachelle joined the boy in that peaceful sleep...

-

-----

-

After a quick trip along hyperspace, the clunky little ship Dionysus cautiously began reentry into the rugged planet of Katina. Rick was piloting this time as he opened a comm channel with the academy.  
"This is spacecraft Dionysus requesting touchdown access to Birse Academy landing plot three, do you confirm?"

The dog on the other end of the audio/visual communications channel responded.  
"Negative Dionysus, we do not confirm any landing reservations for~"

The speaker was removed and replaced by a disheveled mid-aged rabbit.  
"Damned cadets, Sorry about that Ricky. Just touchdown where there's room and I'll be with y'all in a bit."

"Thanks Colonel Cotton, I think you'll be very interested in what we have for you."

"Oh _please_, call me Pete! I can't stand all that uppity army-gibberish. Anyway I'll be glad to hear more about it when you're down here..."  
Pete noticed Rachelle's absence...  
"By the by, whatever happened to the other half of the Cooneys?"

Rick glanced back toward the sleeping cabin, then back to the image of the rabbit man.  
"She's a little sleepy, that's all."

-

* * *

-

Rick and Rachelle eventually found themselves in an empty, unused briefing room in the academy. The two of them sat on one side of a small table, while Pete paced up and down the other end. The muddy furred rabbit was wearing a regular military uniform, but kept the jacket open. One would have simply assumed this rabbit was just an old soldier if it wasn't for the rank insignia stitched on the arm of his jacket, not someone with any deeper government connections.  
"Finally!" he exclaimed, "We've suspected something underhanded from this oddball for a while now, but it's good we've got some solid confirmation for once, especially after..."  
He trailed off, barely catching himself.

"After what?" Rick asked, picking up on something.

"An incident."  
A sharp glance toward the raccoon made it clear Pete wasn't going to say anymore, no matter how much the Cooneys would've asked.

"So uh, why didn't you just break in yourself?" Rick asked, trying to change the subject, "It was all right there in his office."

The stout rabbit man let out an exasperated breath before answering, "Politics."

The Cooney twins exchanged quizzical looks, Rachelle was the first to ask the obvious,  
"What does politics have to do with this?"

The Colonel responded promptly, "What do you think would happen if a government agency, like Lylat Central Intelligence, was to take direct and open action against a popular, well-known individual like Dr. Enos Andross, who had a clean record as far as everyone was concerned?"

Rachelle came up with the answer,  
"He'd gain an unprecedented amount of sympathy among the public."

"Bingo." The rabbit snapped his fingers into pointing at raccoon woman. "The last thing we need is an imprisoned martyr stirring up trouble with the public out there."

Rick saw where this was going, "So by hiring a third party to do your dirty work, you can disassociate the government with controversial actions the public may notice."

"That's one way to look at it, yeah." Pete nodded, "Its a new policy we're trying out, you two are among the first we've hired. Thing is, training our own paramilitary task force and outfitting them with state-of-the-art equipment doesn't come cheap, but independent mercenary units are everywhere in this system, most of them out of work and eager to do nearly anything for the credits. Since we're a charitable organization, we offer these unemployed soldiers-of-fortune work on a job by job basis. So far it's proven to be a highly efficient means to perform undercover operations. And on the plus side: we aren't forced to deal with the snooty army brass to get something done quickly and quietly..."  
Noticing he was trailing off into classified information, Pete _finally_ caught his long-winded self.

"But you aren't here to listen to me babble-on! You'll be wanting your hard-earned reward! Let it never be said that Lylat Central Intelligence doesn't pay the piper. So what'll it be folks?"  
Pete produced a small communicator from inside his open jacket...  
"Credits? Equipment? Services?"

Pete leaned closer to the twins...  
"I've got plenty of contacts in high places, if you're in a little legal pinch or something, I can pull on some strings..."

The twins exchanged a look, Rick saw it coming from a kilometer away: his sister was having an idea.  
"Do you happen have contacts in the Corneria City administration?"

"Do I _ever!_ What're you thinking of Rache?"

"In District three, you'll find that the orphanage has filed a missing child report."

The gruff rabbit looked up something on his communicator to confirm Rachelle's claim.  
"The McCloud case? I don't see what you~"

Rick interrupted him,  
"We've found the kid Pete. He's staying on our ship right now…"

A look combined of shock, outrage and fear erupted onto Pete's face.  
"And you just _left_ the little guy there? All by _himself!?_"  
He became hard and rigid, owning up to his military roots.  
"You two, get up and follow close!"

The rabbit made his way to the room's exit and directed Rick and Rachelle to follow him. The twins exchanged confused looks before following the disgruntled little rabbit man into the plain hallway of the Academy. after taking more than a few steps, Rick took the risk of questioning the enraged rabbit.  
"What's the hassle about Pete?"

He stopped and waited for the Cooney twins to catch up before answering.

"Look, I'm a family man, I've got a whole host of nephews and nieces back on Corneria. You can't spend so much time around _that_ many kids and not pick-up a few things..."  
The raccoon twins stood in an uncomfortable silence, waiting for Pete to continue.  
"Now tell me, how old is the little guy?"

Rachelle answered with here best guess...  
"Not more than five or six years."

Pete started walking again.  
"When kids his age are left alone for as long as he has, they'll end up worrying themselves sick, sometimes quite literally. The poor guy is probably scared half to death by now…"

Pete continued his rant as the twins followed him out of the Academy's main building, across the military landing plots and all the way back to the Cooney's' rattletrap spacecraft.

--

-----

-

When the boarding ramp of the Dionysus dropped open, the three were greeted by a very enthusiastic young James.  
"Rachelle!!"

The little fox-boy rushed out and hugged the Cooney sister's leg tightly, she knelt down and returned the affection. Rick and Pete stood and watched

"Well, He took it better than I expected." Pete turned to Rick. "The little guy certainly does like her."

Rick observed the boy and his sister: they were in a tender, loving, almost maternal embrace. He thought quickly again. He could see, almost _feel_ the deep emotional bonds forming between the little fox boy and his sister. To separate them now would be a terrible loss for both James and Rachelle, and a loss for Rachelle usually ends up being a loss for Rick in the end. But he had to admit: the kid was beginning to grow on him. For better or for worse, it was worth a shot.  
"Say, Pete?"

"Yeah?"

Rick struggled to find the words, looking at the asphalt ground of the landing plot to avoid embarrassing eye-contact.  
"Do you, uh… think there's a way that we could… you know… keep the kid?"

"Ha! I'm _way_ ahead of you Ricky..."

"What?"  
Rick looked up.

The rabbit was already talking to someone on his communicator.  
"Chief Costello? Hey Bernie, this is Pete, I need you to drop the McCloud case… What? No, don't worry, the little guy is safe and in good hands… Thanks bud."  
Pete put his communicator away to address the Cooney twins.  
"Ricky, Rache, the little guy is _all_ yours now."

Rachelle heard this and looked up.  
"We can keep James? Are you serious?"

The Rabbit man let out a chuckle.  
"You two _did_ help shut-down a dangerous threat today, It's the very least I can do."

"I don't know what to say... Thank you?"

Rick took this opportunity to push his own agenda.  
"Say Pete, do you think maybe you can... do something about my debts?"

"Maybe, let's see…"  
Pete checked something on his communicator.  
"_What the?!_"

His eyes widened in shock as he saw just how bad Rick's debt was.

"Sorry Ricky, I don't know how in the fiery depths of Solar you managed to drop yourself _that_ deep in the hole, but I can't help you there."

"Can't you do _anything?_"

Pete thought about this for a second.  
"Tell you what, I liked what I saw from you two today, a _lot._ In fact, I'd be more than willing hire you back for more assignments. It won't rid you of your debt straight away, but at least you'll be on the right track."

They were interrupted by James' little voice.  
"What happens now?"

There was a brief pause before Pete had an idea. The rabbit chuckled and ruffled a hand on the boy's head.

"You know, I've got a little nephew back home..."  
He produced a small photo of a young, gray-furred rabbit boy.  
"His name's Peppy, and he's just about _your_ age little guy. I bet he'd like to meet you."  
He gave James the photograph.  
"Do you want to meet him?"

James looked up to match Pete's gaze, then gave a little nod.  
"Sure."

Rachelle got the question out first.  
"What do you think you're doing?"

As Pete looked into the now slightly confused faces of the Cooney twins, a confident little smirk crossed the rabbit's face.  
"If anyone can help you two raise a kid, it'd be my cousin on Helga Hare."  
Pete found a pen, paper and began writing something. Rick put a hand on little Jame's shoulder.

"I don't think we need the help."

The rabbit finished writing and looked up.  
"So does everyone who _ever_ raised a child. Here's my Cousin's address..."  
Pete offered the scrap of paper to the Cooney twins.  
"Trust me, you'll need all the help you can _get._"

Exchanging a quick look between them first, Rick gave his sister a nod who then took the paper.  
"Thanks for the invitation Pete, we really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. You'd best be off now."

Rick took James's hand and led him back into the ship while Rachelle said the farewells.  
"Goodbye Pete, and thanks again for all you've done."

"It's no trouble at all, Rache. Y'all have a safe trip now."

The raccoon woman then followed her brother and little James. As they entered the spaceship Dionysus, Pete gave them a few parting words.

"Don't worry, Cousin Helga _loves_ having guests over..."  
The boarding ramp was closing.  
"Tell her I sent you!"

Once the ramp had closed, the rabbit dialed on his communicator as the tiny spacecraft's engine woke from it's slumber. With a little firm handling, the craft managed to lift off.

"Cousin Helga? Hi, it's me, Pete. I just thought you'd like to know: you have guests on the way…"  
Pete looked out over the rugged, monumental landscape of Katina as he listened.  
"…Oh no not at all. They're _great_ people, I met'em myself…"

He continued chatting as he looked up to watch the Dionysus ascended halfheartedly into space.


	3. Soldiers of Fortune

_The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world._

-"G-Man", Half-Life 2-

* * *

_**Soldiers of Fortune**_

After completing its reentry procedure, the Dionysus had dropped into the lower atmosphere of the world of Macbeth. The region over which the aging spacecraft soared was one of the planet's many industrial complexes, the landscape here had long since been dominated by factories, production plants, warehouses and a wide array of other heavy commercial facilities.

Fifteen years have passed since James McCloud had been taken in by the Cooney twins. In that time, James had grown-up to become quite the brash, vulpine man...

"No, no… Jim _don't!_ The old rig can't take it!" Rick pleaded with James, but to no avail...

Against all rational expectation, the Dionysus twisted over in a barrel roll.

James McCloud was in the pilot's seat of the old spaceship. He wore the bottom half of a Cornerian Military-issue flight suit, but without the jacket that normally went with it. He instead wore just the gray muscle-T that would've been under the jacket.

"You never told me the old booby-trap could fly like this."  
The fox opened the throttle up, gently urging the protesting engines forward.

Rick was strapped into the copilot's seat wearing a cloudy gray coat over his otherwise ordinary clothing.  
"That's because it _can't_ fly like this Jim."  
On his well-worn face, the raccoon held his eyes wide and ears erect in classic fear as James pushed the tiny craft into a loop.

"Sure it can!"  
The fox threw the Dionysus into a corkscrew dive, much to the dismay of the spacecraft's battered components, and Rick.

"Jim?"

"The engine just needs a tune-up…"  
The ground was rapidly approaching in front of them...

"Pull up."

"The G-diffuser could stand a recalibration…"  
A group of startled alarmed figures could be seen darting for cover...

"You're going to hit that factory!"

James leveled the little craft out just in time to fly between a narrow pair of smokestacks, all without missing a beat.  
"...All things considered, it just needs the bolts tightened and it'll fly like a dream."

The careening spacecraft came back to a steady flight path, and Rick was finally able to catch his wits.  
"What kind of mojo did they _teach_ you at that academy?"

"Everything..." the fox replied with a smirk, "Flight combat, spacecraft maintenance, field-combat training – the works."

His smugness drained away when a police siren blared over the comm system.  
"This is Wayland Prefecture air patrol, set down immediately."  
The sensors showed another craft in pursuit behind the Dionysus.

"Too bad they didn't teach you a little self-control."  
Rick sighed, shaking his head.  
"I'll handle it, just touchdown somewhere."

After the Dionysus had safely met ground, Rick got out of the seat and hobbled to the boarding ramp with a distinct metallic clunk punctuating ever-other step. His left leg was blown off below the knee and was now replaced by a cybernetic prosthetic; for the time being, Rick used a cane to help him adjust to the new leg.

Once the little craft dropped its ramp, revealing a raven patrol officer, jogging to the landed  
"What the hell were you thinking?!" he scolded, "Pulling those reckless maneuvers in public airspace, not to mention exceeding the maximum airspeed by several hindered kilometers per hour~"

Rick wasn't listening to any of the officer's words, he simply slipped out and presented a Lylat Central Intelligence badge to the patrol officer.  
"According to the terms of the Union Mandate, local law-enforcement is not to interfere with the operations of Central Intelligence so long as there is no immediate threat."

"But your flying~"

"My pilot is a top ace who knows _exactly_ what he's doing; there's no immediate threat here, and you may have already compromised this extremely sensitive operation. So are you going to keep wasting my time? Or would you rather have this conversation with your chief back at station?"

The two of them stared each other down for a few seconds, until the raven rolled his eyes and backed down.  
"You undercover guys are sure getting sloppy these days, carry on..."  
The raven returned to his patrol fighter and wasn't seen again after the boarding ramp closed.

Rick hobbled his way back to the cockpit, where James was there waiting for him.  
"Nice one."

"Don't make me do that again..."  
The raccoon slumped back into the copilot's chair, taking care to strap himself in once again.  
"I appreciate that you'd fly me to my contact on my first day with the new leg, but I need you to keep a low profile. I can't be flying circles around everything I find, that kind attention on me is only going to cause trouble."

"Okay, I get it, fly casual."  
The fox lifted the Dionysus off the ground, resuming their original flight plan.  
"Where were we heading?"

"Space Dynamics industrial park, I'll just patch in the coordinates..."  
Rick pulled up a series of images of large manufacturing plants on the copilot's computing terminal.  
"There's a sports bar on the grounds there, very popular with the factory workers and other... we'll say 'less reputable individuals'. Thats where I'm meeting my contact."

After James coerced the Cooneys' beaten spacecraft toward the destination over the hazy horizon, there wasn't much more than nothing. For a while at least, the only sound was the quiet grumble of the Dionysus's engines. An awkward stretch without words kept growing between James McCloud and Richard Cooney, until the raccoon finally broke the ice...

"So tell me Jim, now that you've completed some of Lylat's toughest military training courses, have you given much thought into what you'll actually be _doing_ with your life?"  
Rick turned the copilot's seat to face James, and wait for his answer...

"Do we have to talk about this _now?_"  
By the tone of his voice, he would've rather been anywhere else.

"I don't see what your problem is..." The raccoon shrugged. "Fort Bierce delivers some of the finest soldiering folks in the business, guys with your skillset are in demand all across Lylat. You could probably reenlist in any planet's military and shoot straight up the ranks – officer in no time."

"I don't think so..."  
The fox stared straight ahead, and a sigh quietly escaped him.  
"I already served a tour of duty aboard the McGarrett, and I wasn't impressed. It's all drills and exercises out there, or just sitting in orbit with the rest of the battle group, not one single scratch of action. So instead I've been checking out some of these commercial contractors, since they like to hire their guys right out of the military – guys like me."

Rick had made himself busy, punching away at the dashboard console.  
"You mean outfits like Caius Company?"

James shrugged as he guided the Dionysus further through Wayland airspace.  
"Yeah, something like that."

The raccoon pulled a small device, a handheld holoprojector, and hooked it into the console.  
"Hm, then you just may be in for a real treat today."

"Hows that?"  
It wasn't much, but the fox sat up a little straighter, and a note of curiosity clung to his voice.

"It just so happens that my contact operates his own small-scale independent military contractor unit."  
Rick looked over to the vulpine pilot, if only to see his reaction.

"You mean a _mercenary _unit." James scoffed.

"And?"  
Rick hardly shifted, encouraging James to continue.

"Are you sure you can trust this guy?" The fox glanced over with concern, "I don't know about you, but I've heard some awfully grim stories about these merc types."

"Really? I guess can't really blame them since a lot of those stories are true, but you don't need to worry about Scott, he and I go way back, even before my LCI days..."  
Once the data transfer was finished, Rick detached and pocketed the palm-sized palm-sized projector.  
"Besides Jim, I think you're going to like these 'merc types' a heck of a lot more than corporate backstabbers or pretentious military men."

-

* * *

-

After touching down nearby, the two entered the thriving sports-bar. The whole room was lined with viewing screens showing a variety of sporting events. In one corner, a betting station was set up around a large screen showing a G-Zero race. Many of the patrons were wearing Space-Dynamics worker's jumpsuits, several of which still had their tools on them. Some of the patrons were clearly here for the gambling while others were more ambiguous in their intentions. Such was the case of the individual Rick and James were now approaching...

A black furred terrier sat alone at one of the tables, holding a small glass of dark amber whiskey. He was dressed in a khaki flight-suit with the sleeves rolled up far passed the elbows. The small shaggy canine downed his drink before greeting Rick.  
"Ye're late."

"First day with the new leg Scott, couldn't be helped."  
Rick tapped the prosthetic with his cane

"Just brilliant, how'd ye screw-up that?" the terrier asked while he looked at the false leg.

"It's classified, but someone tried to kill me and only managed to get that much of me."  
Rick took a seat at the table across from the terrier.

"So, nae too different from any other day then..."  
He noticed James, looking as though he'd wandered into the wrong conversation.  
"And who's the loon ye brought with?"

The fox offered his hand to the terrier.  
"The loon's got a name, and it's James McCloud."

"Aberdeen, Scott Aberdeen..."  
Scott took it and gave it a firm shake.  
"Is he goin'tae be an issue here?" he asked Rick after releasing the fox's hand.

The raccoon shook his head.  
"No, not for this operation anyway."

"Fine, fine..."  
The terrier leaned back in his chair  
"So what's cooking that ye need me for this time?"

Rick produced a small holoprojector from his coat and placed it in the table.  
"Nothing much this time, just a high-profile escort..."  
He punched one of the projector's inputs, and an image of a prison barge appeared out of it.

Scott's brows skewed, puzzled.  
"And what exactly is so 'high-profile' about a prison ship?"

"Corneria is making a major transfer of dangerous prisoners from prisons on Corneria to the new Mt Khali maximum security penitentiary on Titania. Among the inmates listed for transfer is Dr. Enos Andross."  
Rick cycled the projector, and the ship was replaced by the head of a shaggy-bearded ape.

Scott's eyebrows pricked up a little at the sight.  
"Heh, _that's_ sure to stir-up a mess."

"You don't know the _half _of it..."  
Andross's head was replaced by an image of twelve Cornerian fighter-craft.  
"Two squads were assigned to escort, but Central Intelligence insisted on a safe and secure transfer. So one of the squads is going to be replaced by your unit, Scott."

The terrier leaned back in his chair.  
"Go on..."

another set of images cycled rapidly through the holoprojector "Working undercover, your unit will be outfitted with Cornerian Military equipment and weapons, and you'll have access to Cornerian fightercraft for the operation. The squad already assigned by the Cornerians is a handful of specially selected pilots who already know that Intelligence is in on this, but not mercenaries. In less words, you'll be flying as Sigma Flight again."

Scott leaned in and gave his scraggly muzzle a thoughtful scratch.  
"I understand what ye're asking, but all this trouble? For a prisoner transport?"

The raccoon shrugged, explaining as best as he could.  
"When you deal with these hot-button figures like Andross, there's always the possibility for something ugly to come, either from his supporters or his opponents. It's not my idea, but my guess is someone's afraid something might happen, and they want a kind of 'insurance policy' to put their minds at ease."

"I see..." the terrier nodded, gazing through with distraction... "Point is I'd be happy to take the job, but I've a slight issue..."  
He sighed,  
"Me team's one pilot short – Ye need six for a full military combat squad, and we've only got five now."

"What happened?" Rick asked, struck with dismay, "I thought you had a full squad."

Scott fidgeted with with the empty glass, sliding it back and forth between his empty hands.  
"The new lad, Dengar, we had tae cut him loose when those new regulations started kicking-in – bleedin' bureaucrats..." he spat, "And the lad was shaping-up tae quite the handy little bastard too..."

Rick sunk forward, dropping his head into a hand.  
"I can't trust any of the other mercs with this assignment, it's far too discreet and far too sensitive."

"And I cannae do the job without another pilot~"

"What about me?..."  
Up until now, James McCloud had simply been sitting quietly to one side and observing. Now the fox leaned forward in on the exchange, eager to push further.  
"What if _I_ flew the sixth fighter? I'm familiar with most military issue spacecraft, I _did_ graduate top of my class in fighter combat, and I _did _serve on the CSV McGarrett's fighter wing..."

Rick wasn't moving much, but his still silence hid a quickly thinking mind.  
"I don't know..."

"Oh come _on _Rick." James insisted, "If you had to go hunting to fill-in this hole, you'd probably end up asking someone like me anyway. I can save you all sorts of trouble here."

The raccoon maintained his meditative silence for some time, then turned to the terrier for his input.  
"It's your mission Scott, what do you think?"

Scott was looking the younger fox over, evaluating the vulpine pilot with his eyes and ears...  
"If his skills are up to his talk, then I don't see an issue in him flying with me crew this once."

"Alright Jim, you'll be flying with Scott's team..."  
Rick sucked down a deep breath, and released  
"Just do me a favor and try not to do anything foolhardy, Rache will _never_ let me hear the end of it if something goes wrong."

"Don't fret over it Rich." Scott waved the raccoon off, "We'll treat the lad like he's one of our own."

Jame's eyes bounced between the other two, full of eager vigor.  
"You won't regret this choice, either of you."

"That's settled then." Rick said with a quick nod of approval "The official mission briefing is about a week away, at Fort Fenris, Corneria. I'll make sure you get the particulars as soon as they're ready~"

"I know the drill." Scott droned, like he'd heard the same thing so many times before. "Me crew and I will be there, dressed for the occasion and ready to play our part."

"Alright, then I think we're done here..." The Cooney brother picked his small holoprojector off the table.  
"Meet us outside if you want too, I just need a few minutes with Jim."  
As easily as that, Rick and James got up and left as quietly as they came.

"Suits me fine..." The terrier turned around, waving his empty glass in the air as called out "Oi, Barkeep! Another whiskey!"

-

* * *

-

McCloud and Cooney strolled side by side along a concrete walkway just outside the sports bar they left only seconds ago. The Space Dynamics industrial park outside was far larger than the images had suggested. The main production plant alone towered over the other buildings and facilities – standing about 500 feet high and broader across. The sports bar sat on the edge, off to one side where it could all be seen by any visitor.

"So what's up?" the fox asked.

"Take a seat, Jim..."  
Rick indicated a bench along the walkway, on which James sat down soon followed by the raccoon.  
"Tell me, do you know why LCI contracts the services of mercenaries?"

"They're cheaper than running a full-time spec-ops crew." the fox answered.

"That's what we tell people who ask out of suspicion, a little piece of the truth to satisfy curiosity..."  
Rick made firm eye-contact before going on.  
"So apart from these apparent cost benefits, do you _actually_ know why Lylat Central Intelligence hires mercenaries?"

James paused for a moment, considering a better answer...  
"I guess not."

The raccoon broke his eye-contact, and gazed out over the expanse of industrial landscape before him.  
"Since you're getting into the mercenary business, I think it's best if you know why it is we do what we do – why we don't fully trust the military or the governments that pay for them."

"Why are you telling me this so soon?"

"You would've asked eventually, and you would also ask why I didn't tell you sooner, why I didn't trust you. I'm going to avoid that awkward situation altogether by telling you now, because for all your headstrong, reckless shenanigans, I _do _trust you."

James paused again, digesting the ideas...  
"Okay, lets hear it."

"Every soldier in an official military follows a chain of command: a squad has a sergeant, a platoon has a captain, a brigade has a general and so on. Each answers to another set of individuals higher up in the chain of command. This chain eventually leads to the officials in that military unit's governing body. It's an imperfect system. Though it allows for a large and powerful military force, it is venerable to abuse, information leaks and corruption. At its worst, a large military organization is little more than a petty bureaucracy with ranks and medals. Large corporate contractors can be even worse..."

Rick took a quick breath before moving on.

"Now smaller mercenary units, they don't follow a chain of command. They are not apart of a greater bureaucracy, they don't really have to answer to anyone: not a general, not a politician, not a CEO, not the greater population – no one. Mercenaries answer only to _credits_. Since they have nothing at stake in a bureaucracy, they can't be easily swayed by loyalty, patriotism, a promotion or anything else intangible. LCI is a completely separate entity from the planetary governments, operating entirely under Lylat Union Congress. In this influential position, we'll handle the most sensitive information and delicate situations. With all this baggage, we chose not to risk openly using the planetary military or major contractors where information could easily get into the wrong hands."

"But aren't mercenaries even _more_ risky to give this sort of information to?" James asked.

It was a question Rick was prepared for, and could answer easily.  
"If any of our operatives try and rat on Intel, they're simply disavowed – all connections cut, and they can't prove anything. Who would you believe: one voice crying foul that can't support its claims, Or an established Intelligence agency? LCI even cooks-up many of the 'leaks' themselves specifically to drown out the possibility of a real leak."

James had already moved on to another topic  
"I heard you mention something called 'Sigma Flight'. What is it? Some kind of black-ops unit?"

"Not entirely..." Rick began, "According to the military, the public, and anyone short of the highest authorities in the Lylat Union Congress, all of our operations at LCI are carried out by members of 'Sigma flight'. It is simply the designation given to any Lylat Central Intelligence force -usually mercenaries- that makes official contact with anyone outside the Agency. They often work a job undercover as military or other official personnel, and sometimes they'll simply be 'undercover' as normal mercenaries. A classic save made by many of our clients involves this situation: someone asks, 'aren't you a mercenary?' to which the merc answers, 'no, I'm actually a member of LCI Sigma Flight working undercover as a mercenary.'"

"Thats... a little confusing."

Amused, Rick let out a chuckle.  
"When it comes to maintaining your cover-story, the harder truths are to tell from lies – the better~"  
As if on cue, a small charcoal-furred terrier was thrown out of the sports bar onto the walkway.  
"See what I mean?" Referring to Scott lying face-down on the concrete.

He turned back to James while the terrier got up and dusted himself off.  
"Now you think about what I told you Jim. You've bitten-off a lot of responsibility real quick, and I want you to at least be aware of the territory you just stepped into."

The fox shrugged, still absorbing all the information dumped on him.  
"No problem."

"Havin' a little father-son time are we?" Scott interrupted, conveniently walking-in on the moment.

"Technically, Jim's my adoptive nephew, not my son..."  
Rick turned to look at Scott, and was taken aback.  
"Did you start _another_ barroom brawl, Scott?"

"Ha, I wouldn't have had it any other way..."  
The terrier was a little worse for wear. His eye was bruised, he had a few scuffed patches in his coarse fur. On his flight suit he had what was probably a blood stain, or possibly red wine.  
"If ye don't need me fer anything, I was just heading out tae meet-up with me crew at the spaceport."

"We were just leaving ourselves..."  
The raccoon got up, supporting himself on the cane.  
"Let's go Jim, I still can't fly the ship myself, which means I need your fancy flying skills again. We'll see you at Fort Fenris, Scott."

"Sure, sure, go on. I need tae sort out a few things anyway..."


	4. The Fortune of Soldiers

_**The Fortune of Soldiers**_

The hallways were of a plain and dull style favored by military facilities. The two stood outside the door of an operations room, just as they had been assigned. James now wore the green jumpsuit and white jacket of the Cornerian fighter-wing, while Rick sported the typical secret-service attire of the plain black suit and tie, but with no cane now.

"It looks like Scott and his crew are fashionably late, as usual. You'll have to meet up with them out here when they arrive. For now, you'll need this..."  
He handed James a simple armband with the symbol 'Σ' printed on it – sigma.  
"From here on out Jim, it's just going to be you and Scott's unit. As far as this mission goes, there's nothing more I can do to help you. I have my duty as an LCI agent, and now you have yours as a member of the squad."

"I'm gonna be fine Rick, I know what I'm doing." The fox replied, fitting the Sigma Flight armband over the left sleeve of his uniform.

"Good luck then, though I hope you won't need it."  
With his farewell, Rick entered the briefing – still with a slight, awkward limp, but manageable.

No sooner had Rick disappeared into the room, than a group of five turned the corner of the hallway and walked toward operations room, and subsequently toward James McCloud. Everyone in this group wore matching Cornerian fighter-wing uniforms, as well as Sigma Flight armbands on their left arms.

Scott Aberdeen was the first among this group of soldiers, and called out James when the squad had closed in.  
"...and here's the loon himself!"

A sharp-eyed snow leopard woman broke from the group to look James over with a harsh and critical eye.  
"This stripling had better prove more capable than your _last_ prospect, haggis."

"Ah, won't ye dry yer eyes about that already?"  
He then proceeded to introduce his team...  
"Anyway m'boy, on the end here is Boris Ursa."  
Scott indicated the large, brown bear.

"Next to him is our mechanic, Adrian 'Ardy' Crane."  
A quiet, thin gangly heron.

"Further along is Gus~"

"Yo!" A shifty-eyed little squirrel with blazing red fur.

"Last but hardly least is the lovely Chakori Uncia."

"Can it, haggis!" The pale leopard woman was tall, keen, and poised to spring at any moment...

"And together, they're team Star Terrier."

Chakori wasn't done with James yet. If any one individual could have embodied the essence of cold, hard ice; it would've been this ruthless feline.  
"We pull our own weight here stripling, so if you are anything less than the _prodigy_ haggis claims you are – you will find yourself replaced in a heartbeat."

"Fort Bierce doesn't cut any slack on their standards, and I came out on top of them – so I think I can hold my own just fine..."  
Though Chakori stood several inches over the vulpine pilot, he still didn't back down.  
"And the name's James McCloud, feel free to use it whenever 'stripling' isn't demeaning enough."

The ashen furred leopardess raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the fox's gusto.  
"If your reflexes are as quick as your tongue, then you may yet prove useful, McCloud."

Pressed for time by the mission briefing, Scott butted in between James and Chakori, cutting the mingling short.  
"Clam up and get in there all of ye, we're late enough already."  
The terrier led the group of five inside.

-

---------

-

The group filed into a briefing room. An older, and more worn Pete stood at the front of the room in a deep red uniform of a Cornerian senior officer. With the muddy furred rabbit was a bloodhound junior officer in a similar uniform as Pete, only green. Six others in the greens-and-whites of the Cornerian fighter force sat along the sides of a long table. Among them, James recognized his good friend and old wingmate Peppy Hare...

"Aren't you supposed to be on extended leave?" Peppy asked, astonished to see his old friend here of all places, but not without skepticism. "Or was that just a cover for recruitment into Sigma Flight?"

The fox took a seat across from the gray furred hare, while the rest of 'Sigma Flight' found empty chairs around the same table.  
"It's a long story Peppy~"

"You'll have to tell me all about it later, Jimmy" The hare cut him off, "We're just about set to get rolling..."

Pete took a position at the front of the briefing room, with his canine subordinate nearby.  
"Good afternoon" He began, "It's good to see you were all able to make it today..."  
The muddy furred rabbit threw a quick glance by Scott, who gave him a quick shrug back.

"Pilots of the Cornerian military flight corp, welcome to the famous or sometimes infamous home of Corneria's special forces: Fort Fenris. Each of you have been specially selected for the privilege to carry out this mission alongside Lylat Central Intelligence's very finest: Sigma Flight. Captain Pepper has forwarded your files to me not only for your prowess in the cockpit, but also for your noted ability to think and adapt to a variety of circumstances. This may be a simple escort mission, but it can also be a potential disaster if it goes wrong, and don't think that others haven't realized the same..."

"The prison transport you are assigned to escort will be packed to the brim with high-profile inmates –individuals who have done _terrible_ things to the people of Lylat. They have all been deemed too dangerous or too vulnerable to be held where they are now, and are to be transferred to the new Mt. Khali maximum-security facility on Titania. This period of transport across the system between Corneria and Titania is when this operation will be most vulnerable. There are plenty of people out there who would rather see these butchers set loose and working for them, and an opportunity like this is more than a little tempting. Your mission is to make sure they arrive swiftly and securely..."

"To make this mission as simple as possible; you will not be referred to by name, code-designations only; you will have clearance, if the joint unit commander sees fit, to fire on any unauthorized units that you may encounter. Above all else, be ready – just because this is an escort mission does not make it any less important than fighting on the front-lines of a warzone. It's more important in-fact, if it means a conflict doesn't start in the first place..."

Pete continued,  
"During this mission, Sigma Flight will fly undercover as Cornerian pilots, much the same as yourselves. They will be outfitted with the same fightercraft and equipment you use. Nobody, not even your own superiors, should be able to tell the difference between these two squads. Since you will be working alongside these distinguished individuals as equals, I expect you to treat them with the same utmost respect as you would any fellow soldier in the line of duty."

The rabbit was bringing a close to his speech.  
"As soldiers of the Cornerian Military, it is your duty to protect the citizens of Corneria, and the Lylat System as a whole. By completing this mission, by delivering these enemies of hard-earned freedom to a place far from where they can cause harm, you will have done your part to uphold this sworn duty."

Pete stepped down from the center, allowing the junior officer to take his place.  
"You have forty-eight hours to prepare in whatever way you see fit. Be ready to disembark from hangar Q34 at exactly zero-nine-hundred hour local time. You have your orders, you need only follow them. Dismissed.

-

* * *

-

A small spacecraft lifted off from the top of a tall building in Corneria City. The logo on one side indicated that the building was the main studio and offices for the Lylat Tribune news group. The craft that lifted off had that very same logo printed on it's hull: _Lylat Tribune #8,_ a news spacecraft for the studio...

"I know we've had a slow news season Vixy, but this is ridiculous!..."  
The speaker was a blue-gray dove woman with a stringy hair-like crest on her head, sitting in the copilot's seat of the news spacecraft. She wore a tasteful off-white suit and a small ear-piece – a broadcast journalist if ever there was one.  
"I mean, what's so newsworthy about a prison ship anyway?"

"It beats doing a story on conspiracy theorists..."  
The other speaker was a younger copper furred vixen piloting the spacecraft. She wore a pair of loose fitting jeans, and a simple button-front shirt.  
"If I hadn't talked the execs into letting us cover this mission, we would've been stuck with interviews on the old Voyager hoax. And you know how _that_ would go over."

"...with both sides angrier at each other and, for no better reason than the camera, _us._" The avian journalist supplied the rest of the line of thought.

Vixy guided the news spacecraft continued into orbit to join the Cornerian military escort already waiting.  
"Even if this is a boring gig, at least were not made-out to be the enemy, and it's a great excuse to get off-planet for a while."

The two woman news-crew aboard Lylat Tribune #8 soon received an audio/visual comm from the Cornerian squad leader.  
"...This is Theta 1 to Lylat Tribune. We're just calling in tae let ye know tha' we ken that the press is authorized to accompany this operation. All we're asking from ye is tae stay out of the way and stay out of trouble, ye can do as ye please otherwise."

"Vixiene Reinard of Lylat Tribune acknowledges. Thanks for the heads-up, Commander."

"Don't mention it, las. Theta 1 out." The channel closed.

The vixen brought the spacecraft into a parking orbit near the fighters as the avian journalist offered up a suggestion.  
"Say Vixy, what do you say get one more hit in before that tub makes orbit?

"Sure thing, just give me a second..."  
The vixen got out of the pilot's seat and made for a storage closet in the rear of the cabin.

"This little setup you've got going isn't too shabby for a camera-grip."

"We've been over this before, Tory – I'm a Field Producer. Not every two-bit camera operator in the studio gets to run these jobs."  
Vixy emerged from the storage room lugging a bulky equipment case for the camera gear.

"You know they only give you that title so you don't feel ripped-off when you do all the grunt-work yourself, right?"

"You are _not_ going to get me into this argument..."  
The vixen set the case down, opened it and began to setup a camera and tripod, right there in the cabin.

"I'm just teasing, Vixy. For what it's worth, I'd much rather work with just you than with a whole lousy crew any day."

"Thanks, I guess..."  
Once her camera was positioned and activated, Vixy Reinard framed the avian journalist through the camera's lens and prepared to shoot...  
"We're on in five, four, three..."  
The remainder of the countdown was shown on her fingers: 2... 1...

The dove woman began her newscast.

"Good morning everyone, I'm Victoria Goura with Lylat Tribune News, reporting live from a parking orbit above the planet Corneria. We expect the prison ship to arrive at any moment now..."

-

---------

-

James McCloud sat in the cockpit of the fighter supplied to him, along with the rest of the squad. The Cornerian ASF-14 'Comet' was a durable and sturdy combat platform. It had a long, slender fuselage body, a reliable engine in the back, and a pair of straight wings jutting out near the rear where its primary weapon systems were placed. Though this fighter wasn't going to pull any truly spectacular maneuvers, it also wouldn't to go to pieces if you tried. It was by and large, a good solid fightercraft suitable for a wide variety of mission roles, including a long-distance escort. James gave the thing an experimental Z-axis roll, and found everything to be in good working order.

The spacecraft Lylat Tribune #8 pulled near the formation, catching Jame's attention. Though he tried to ignore it, there wasn't much else to distract him, and finally opened up the squad's comm...  
"Say Peppy, do you think the press out there is going to give us any trouble?"

"I don't think so, Jimmy." The hare answered, "There's only one of them, and it's not like they're gonna start something."

The smooth aesthetic lines of the news craft seemed somehow out of place against the sturdy construction of the twelve ASF-14 fighters...  
"I know, but having the media out here just makes it seem wrong, like they _expect_ something to go badly."

A hound from the Cornerian half of the squad chimed in on the exchange.  
"I think you're reading too much into it. Don't forget, we've got _mission_ to focus on."

"But if things _do _go badly Jimmy, we'll be sure to give 'em hell, won't we?"

James didn't have a chance to properly answer when~

"Clam-up yer comm chatter an' look sharp! Seems like our oversized paddy-wagon is aboot tae break-orbit."

The prison ship was a heavy, thundering vessel. It wasn't especially large, but the way it flew, the way it pushed steadily forward with no hint of stopping suggested that it should've been a much larger vessel. It pushed away from the blue planet below flanked by a civilian police escort; the lead pilot of which contacted the waiting Cornerian squad.  
"Commander?"

"Thats me." Scott answered.

"The ship's all yours now." The other pilot continued, "Make sure it gets to Titania safe."

The terrier replied, "That's the plan, isn't it?"

The police escort broke away from the bulky prisoner transport and descended back into Corneria, while the twelve-unit military escort took their positions.  
"The ship's skipper says he's ready to go when we are." Scott added, "If anyone has a few last second concerns, spit 'em out now."

The squad gave affirmative replies, James included.

" If we're all clear on tha', lets move it oot!"

The prison ship, twelve Cornerian escorts and the spacecraft Lylat Tribune #8 all made their jumps along hyperspace.

-

* * *

-

The journey across the system was to be made in two phases. First was the easy part, a simple jump into Fortuna's orbit for resupply and vector realignment before moving further along the system's orbit-ring. This part was fairly uneventful and move easily into the second phase.

-------

The group came out of warp again at the edge of a vast, hazy blue nebula of barely imaginable proportions. Not only was the entire area was shrouded in mist, but light itself was skewed and twisted by the radioactive and magnetic disturbances from within. The phenomena gave the illusion of a large area being small, or a small area being large, the fast moving slow or the slow moving fast. A strange, ominous place to say the least.

"Listen up and listen well!" Scott announced over the squad's channel, "This is the Sector-X nebula, and our route is going tae take us though it. between its radiation, magnetic flux, and the old drifting wrecks from the Titania-Fortuna conflict, we won't be able tae warp through it unless ye plan on coming out the other side in chunks. Also, scanners and long-range communication systems will be affected by the interference. It's one ripe piece of work this place, if ever there were a spot for an ambush, it'd be in here..."

The great prison ship began its lumbering passage into the mist, while its escort stood close in formation around it.

"And there it goes..."  
It was Scott over the channel, now with a slight crackling of static as the squad's local signal had to compete with Sector-X's dancing magnetic fields.  
"We just lost outside communication. Keep alert, your eyes may be of more use than your sensors now."

Visibility gradually became more and more compromised as the little fleet made its way further into the mists of Sector-X. Eventually, one couldn't see very far before everything faded into a warped, pale blue. Every now and then, a large piece of twisted metal debris or the broken structure of an old battlecruiser would drift silently by...

"I don't like this Jimmy, something out there just don't sit right with me..."

James hazarded a look at his sensors, they were showing incorrect readings for almost everything. Velocity: 73,058 m/s, G-force: 27 g~

One of the pilots spotted something~  
"_Shit!_ Basset, Watch your three!"

"But I don't see anythi~"  
The front-most fighter was hit in the side by a flechette round – dozens of tiny blades traveling at incredible speeds ripped straight through the craft's hull, like it was were nothing more than tissue paper. From the many holes perforated in the fighters hull, a small tinge of crimson was dragged out along with the escaping air~

"...Basset!"  
The only reply the startled pilot got was the background static of Sector X...

Basset was dead. Even if the flying fragments didn't shred the pilot's body to a pulp, the vacuum of cockpit-decompression would've finished him off anyway.

"We've got company!..." another pilot shouted.  
A force of unknown hostile fighters swooped out of the mists, gunning for the prison ship and remaining squad.

"Come on and show these maggots what yer made of! Engage at will!"  
Scott was the first to surge his craft into the fray with guns blazing. The rest of the squad followed-suit with a vengeance, each selecting their target and pursuing them, or becoming pursued themselves.

"I can't get this guy off me!"  
It was Peppy's voice over the channel, and James could see his friend's fighter being chased stubbornly by one of the attacking foes.

The fox punched his throttle forward and joined the fight...

...James quickly made note of Peppy's path, and maneuvered his fighter into position behind the still moving prisoner transport. Although the hare's attacker was a decent pilot, he wasn't aware enough to see the fox launch-out from behind his cover...  
James McCloud fired a volley of laser-fire into the unsuspecting foe, knocking-out one of it's thrusters. The cheap spacecraft didn't stand a chance, and left a wake of smoke and debris as it spun erratically away.

"Thanks! I owe you one."

"You can repay me later Peppy, we've still got the rest of these jokers to deal with."  
Even as he spoke, the fox selected his next target and began to position himself

"Let's give 'em hell then, Jimmy!"

The two flew back into the action.

-

* * *

-

Aboard Lylat tribune #8, the meager news crew could only sit back and watch the fury unfold in front of them. The journalist Victoria, was ecstatic about the situation, in a morbid kind of way.  
"Are you getting all this?"

Vixy was in the pilot's seat, checking the outer camera on the control board.  
"It hasn't stopped recording since we got here, but I won't be able to send a live-feed back to the studio with the interference. I'll just have to save it for later."

Victoria was watching the ongoing battle between the Cornerians an unidentified fighters with a kind of startled delight.  
"Do you realize what this means Vixy?"

"It means there are good soldiers _dying _out there, Tory." The vixen continued her work with the camera's interface. "We capture the images and report it to the public, nothing more."

But the blue-gray dove continued to her point anyway.  
"But it also means that we'll be the talk of the studio for quite some time. With a story like this, we'll get promotions, move into prime-time. You name it – it's ours. We could even have those newsroom pages work for _us_ for a change."

Vixy was having none of it, and turned away from her controls to Victoria.  
"How can you even _think_ about your career, your _fame,_ while good people are loosing their hard-earned lives to the vacuum of space?! We have a responsibility to tell the people what is happening and to tell them straight, whatever fame we get comes after that first priority."

Victoria didn't seem to feel the shame, as if she was used to this kind of talk.  
"The news can be a bleak business at times, but the news is still a business. If your 'honor' is what gets the viewers and sell the ad space, then so what?"

Vixy rolled her eyes and turned away from the dove woman in disgust, only to notice a comm signal trying to get through.  
"We've got a distress call on the comm."

"From the fighter-pilots? Figures."

"No, its... from the prison ship..."  
There was a moment of tense silence before the vixen brought up the audio/visual comm channel.

It was the bridge of the prison ship. Red lights flashed in the background as crew members dashed from station to station. The captain, a stout bulldog was on the comm, and had to shout over the blaring alarms.  
"...I repeat does anyone copy? Does... What the hell? You two aren't apart of the escort, explain yourselves immediately!"

"Vixiene Reinard, Lylat Tribune. Your escort is tied-up in a bit of a dogfight, whats happening?"

"You're the press posse? Dammit..."  
The news didn't ease the stout captain's tension at all, but at least he was talking to someone.  
"There's been a massive jailbreak aboard. I don't know how they managed it, but the inmates broke out and they're storming the whole ship right now! If we don't get some kind of assistance fast, this tub won't be in safe hands much longer. If there's anything you can do, anything at all, do it _now_."

"Hold on, I'll see if I can get you through to the escort commander."

-

* * *

-

The hellish dogfight persisted, fighter chased after fighter, each spewing forth laser-fire. Some went down in twisted, blazing wrecks, others came out triumphant. It ended after a short time, too short, and the few remaining attackers broke off, darting away into the safety of the mists.

"Whats happening?" James asked.

One of the other pilots answered.  
"They've given up! We won!"

There was a brief chorus of celebration among the pilots before Scott interrupted them.  
"Pipe down! The lot of ye!"  
Once he had silence on the comm channel, the terrier continued.  
"Ye may want to hear this..."

He connected the squad to another audio/visual comm channel. It was the distress call Vixy had picked up, but the captain and crew were in far worse shape now...  
"...out! They're all out! The prisoners are hijacking the ship! Need assistance asap~"  
A volley of blaster shots ripped into the Captain's back, killing him. His scorched body keeled forward to reveal his killer, a thin monkey man in a dark blue security officer's uniform with an assault rifle aimed where the Captain had been – aiming into vid-screen at the pilots.

The skinny ape lowered his weapon, swaggered to the comm station and shoved the captain's scorched body aside before taking the seat for himself.  
"It's over, brave pilots of Corneria – you have _lost.._." His voice had haughty, high-strung tone to it. "You're welcome to stop us if you think you can, but I'm afraid you'll find that your luck has run-out. Good day."  
He deactivated the comm channel, leaving only static.


	5. The Grim Gambit

_**The Grim Gambit**_

The mangled wrecks of Cornerian and hostile fighters alike were still warm when the heavy prison ship began its exit. It maneuvered sluggishly, almost at a glacial pace despite it's massive engines firing on full. Although the vessel wasn't going anywhere fast, it also showed no signs of stopping. The onlooking soldiers must've figured any threat to this mission would come from _outside_ the ship, not from _inside _as the case seemed to be.

Scott broke the silence first.  
"We have tae stop it, before the thing gets out of here!"

"Why?" Peppy Hare asked over the comm. "We can just call for reinforcements once we're out."

"Wherever the malinky monkey-business is taking the ship, he'll be sure tae have _plenty_ of backup of his own. We'd be space-dust, or he'll warp out before we'd get _any_ kind of signal through. We've got tae stop him here and now, while we still can, at least long enough tae call for reinforcements..."  
To this end, the terrier asked around his squad...  
"Ardy, got any ideas on how tae disable this heaving bulk?"

"No can do, Scott." The slim heron told the terrier what he knew, "These prison ships may be unarmed, but they're built like overgrown tanks. We won't even make a _dent_ with the kind of firepower we're packing."

"What about from the inside?" James suggested.

"You mean into a ship loaded with homicidal lunatics?"  
Ardy wasn't too keen on the idea,  
"By now, they're probably armed to the teeth and out for blood! Its a fool's errand, kid!"

"I think we're well aware of the situation Adrian." Scott grew impatient, "Just tell us how we stop that great lug in its tracks."

"Don't say I didn't warn you..." The heron mechanic didn't like where this was going, but told the terrier anyway. "Now these ships, they've got multiple backup systems in place, so simply shutting down the main reactor isn't going to cut it. If you want these guys stuck here for as long as you're thinking, you'll have to physically destroy the engines themselves."

"Alright then, that's a start. If any of ye has a suggestion on how tae go about this, I'll hear it."

The squad's comm channel remained quiet as the pilots wracked their brains for ideas.

"What kinda bomb payload do these birds carry on 'em?"  
It was the squirrel who asked this question, possibly on to something.

"Last time I checked, we were loaded with a set of manually detonated 20-kiloton high-explosive charges." James answered, "But like Crane said~"

"_Perfect!_"  
The channel went quiet again as Gus' squad-mates waited for him to explain himself.  
"With these here bombs, I reckon I can whip-up a little something-or-other that'll make _slag_ outta them engines. All we'd gots to do is get in there, plant the package, detonate it, and watch the fireworks."

"Sounds like we've got a plan, Gus."

The advantages of tight-knit mercenary units were beginning to dawn on James McCloud. Even the toughest and most cunning traditional soldier wouldn't have thought to jury-rig a sabotage bomb out of fighter-grade ordinance, at least not as readily as this team did. They didn't simply stand ready, waiting for orders as a good soldier would: they looked at the problem, figured-out a solution, and would certainly execute their plan-of-action --all on their own. Coordination and efficiency of this caliber in the military would require at least twice the manpower, and someone higher-up holding the leash. After seeing Star Terrier in action, it became no-wonder that Intelligence would rather hire mercenaries than go through the trouble with the military.

Ardy spoke-up with yet another helpful reality-check for the operation.  
"As great as this plan sounds, there's still the issue of getting _on_ the ship. It only has one measly little docking bay, and it's sure to be..." He double-check his instruments, and was astonished to find..."_open?_ That can't be right~"

"That's our ticket in there Crane!" Scott cut him off, "We's going in!"

"Not so fast haggis!" The leopard woman, Chakori, expressed a need for caution, in her own way of course. "This is far too convenient to be anything but a trap, and you're walking right into it."

The terrier was not quire as concerned.  
"Trap or not, we are _getting_ on that ship. Beside, the best way tae disarm a trap..."  
Scott surged his fighter toward the prson ship's gaping maw of a hangar-bay.  
"...is tae trigger it. Sigma Flight, ye're all with me. Whoever is left stays out here and covers us."

James and the rest of 'Sigma flight' followed-suit, ready to take the grim gambit.

-

* * *

-

It wasn't a particularly good hangar: the space was barely large enough to accommodate the six Cornerian fighters that were entering. In addition to the claustrophobic constraints, there was also a distinct lack of any major services, no refueling stations, no repair facilities to speak of, just a tool chest in the corner. Overall, it was a poor, minimal excuse of a docking bay, but one shouldn't expect anything more from a prison ship.

The six touched down where they could find space, as there wasn't much of it. Once safely on the floor, the pilots each exited their respective fighter-craft and prepared themselves.

All six members of Star-Terrier/Sigma Flight still wore the same Cornerian pilot's uniforms, ready for the worst. James, in addition to the sidearm pistol everyone had, packed an assault rifle in his fighter's weapon locker and the others each sported hand-picked weapons of their own.

Upon exiting his fighter, James McCloud swiftly assumed a combat stance and eyed the area, same as everyone else, waiting for the trap to spring.

Nothing.

The group split up, and kept searching the pitiful hangar for anything that could be an ambush.

Still nothing.

As James passed by the large tool chest, he heard the rattle of steel instruments within it. Something in the chest was moving. He quickly trained his rifle on the incriminating box before calling on his comrades.  
"Guys! I've got something here!"

The rest of Star Terrier rushed to James, each in turn readied their own weapons on the tool chest as they arrived, except for Scott. The terrier had instead drawn a peculiar broadsword sword from his back. It more than just a simple steel blade since it had a power cell in its handle.  
Scott turned to the box, and started making his demands. "Whoever is in there, you can either come out nice and easy, or we drag you out kicking an' screaming. The choice is yours..."  
He only got silence as his answer.

The terrier came to the side of the chest and dropped the tinted visor of his helmet into place.  
"Well then, don' say I didn't warn ye!"  
Scott brought the sword above his head before giving it a mighty, downward swing, striking the edge of tool chest's front face. With a rattling screech that sent up a fountain of sparks, the sword began to grind through the thick steel casing of the tool chest. All the while, the rest of the team held their weapons steady, ready to blast whatever was in that tool chest if they needed to.

Once the door had been completely removed, it dropped heavily to the ground, still leaning against the box.

Now that the noise was subdued, James had to ask,

"How did you..? What kind of weapon _is _that?"

"Impact claymore m'boy."  
Scott gave the blade a quick flourish,  
"This thing'll cut through some pretty tough stuff..." the terrier replaced the blade in the scabbard on his back. "... and it'll at least pierce just about anything else. Now lets see who this mystery stowaway is."

He knocked the loose door away from the tool chest to reveal a huddled, cowering figure crammed in the steel box.  
"_Shit,_ man! Don't kill me! I ain't gonna do nothing, I _swear!_"  
Someone _was _hiding in the tool chest, but it was too dark to make out who.

The bear, Boris, reached a great brown arm into the gaping box and dragged the speaker, pig, out to the floor and onto his back. The stocky young swine was terrified, trembling in fact.

"Pigma!" Scott recognized him instantly. "What in great, blazing Solar are ye doing _here?!_"

"What... what am _I_ doing here?!" The swine scrambled onto his feet, "You fired me, _that's_ what I'm doing here! I had to get a regular job on this dump's maintenance crew to make ends meet, no thanks to _you._"

The terrier slapped himself on the forehead.  
"This really isn't the time for this conversation... Can ye tell us what happened?"

"And why should I help you guys anyway?" Pigma carried on, "I had to jump through all kinds of hoops just to prove I had what it takes, and then you just~"

The leopard brought the muzzle of her scoped battle-rifle up to the startled pig's forehead, cutting Pigma's ramble short.  
"Because if you aren't going to help us, then you're against us, and you know full well how I treat my enemies..."

The terrier took this opportunity to delegate a few needed tasks though the rest of the team.  
"Ardy, Gus, Boris – fetch a few bombs from the fighters and whip-up that charge..."  
Scott turned back to Pigma, still silent and still motionless as he stared down the barrel of Chakori's battle rifle.  
"So laddy, ye work engineering on this tub do ye? If ye help us out, I'll put in a good word for ye, maybe find a way tae get ye back. I meant it when I told ye it wasn't me choice, and we could really use ye on the crew again."

"What do you need?" the swine asked, with a glimmer of eagerness rising up in his voice.

The terrier stepped closer, between Chakori and and Pigma.  
"We need tae completely cripple this ship's propulsion, with a single explosive charge. Any suggestions?"

"With one explosion..."  
For a minute, Pigma became less aware of the weapon in his face as he figured out a solution.  
"Your best bet's to knock out the old drive-capacitor in main engineering. There's only one on this ship, so can't be replaced. The engines need it to work at all, so it can't be bypassed like some of these other systems. If you knock that out, this ship's a sitting duck."

Scott patted the swine on the shoulder.  
"Just what I wanted tae hear laddy, and ye can show us the way too since ye know this ship better than any of us..."

"All finished!" Gus announced.  
The three who'd left before had returned, with the makeshift bomb carried in Boris's stout arms.

"It ain't much to look at, but this sucker'll make one _heck_ of a mess." The fiery rodent continued, "Now then, I've wired Boris's communicator device to the detonator. So whenever y'all ready to let'er rip, just give the little thing a jingle and _Boom... _watch the fireworks."  
the contraption was simple enough – a trio of high-explosive charges used in the fighters' bombs, with several wires connected to the small personal comm unit.

"Perfect timing Gus, we were about ready tae head out..."  
Scott made a gesture toward the hangar bay's main doors.  
"Dengar, if ye'd do us the honors."

"No sweat, man. Engineering's right this way."  
With a light bounce of excitement in his steps, Pigma led the group to the indicated door.

The pilots all brought their weapons to ready positions, and carefully moved into the hallway. Not meeting any resistance, they started on their route toward main engineering.

"Keep a sharp eye open..." Scott warned, "there's no telling what sort of mischief we're up against."

-

* * *

-

Meanwhile, Peppy Hare and what was left of the squad, all two of them, were still outside and still covering the prison ship as it slowly rumbled through the littered mists of Sector-X.

"Lt. Amelia Grey reporting, no sign of trouble so far..."  
The speaker, an upstanding canine, was piloting and following military regulations to the T. He was also beginning to get on Peppy's nerves.

"You've been _saying _that for the last fifteen minuets, Grey."  
The two fighters circled around the troubled ship  
"I think we can tell when trouble comes, it's usually when someone gets shot."

"Lighten up, I'm only following orders here."

"Orders, right." The rabbit rolled his eyes, "What do those orders say about excessive speech? Some knick-knack about shouting 'Fire!' in a crowded theater? We need to keep an eye out in case~"

"Hostiles inbound!" Grey exclaimed, cutting off Peppy, "Twelve o'clock low!"

The unknown enemy fighters that had taken more than half the squad already returned out of the blue mists. There were only three left, and closing fast.

"Now we're talking!" the hare replied.

The pair of them attempted to engage the hostile craft, but the enemy was completely ignoring the advancing fighters. Instead, the hostiles made directly for the prison ship, lining themselves up with the still-gaping hangar opening. Once the hostiles were close, each enemy fighter launched a bomb straight into the cramped hangar, obliterating 'Sigma Flight's' helpless fighter-craft. All that remained were a few twisted, burning shells, some of which drifted into space. However, this unwavering maneuver made the hostiles particularly venerable to attack.

Taking advantage of the situation, the two Cornerians promptly dispatched each of the remaining hostiles with a swift volley of laser-fire.

"We're in one _deep_ load of stinking trouble now." Peppy said, surveying the wreckage outside.

"Roger _that_."

-

* * *

-

The group on board had made their way into main engineering with surprisingly little trouble. The engine room, -much like the rest of the ship- was built to be sturdy, and nothing else. All the equipment was dated, heavy and bulky. It was all working just fine –it was simply a great, ugly thing to behold.

The trouble that had eluded the team thus far had finally found them. The whole ship was shaken by a blast of some sort, nearly knocking some to the ground. Once the group was steady on their feet again, they began looking for any sign of trouble that should accompany a blast like that.

"What the hell just happened? Are we under attack?"  
As if to answer Scott's question, his helmet's headset started blaring a frantic voice into the terrier's ears.  
"Ahg! Slow down will ye Hare?..."

"Scott, What happened?" James asked.

"Our wings just blasted blasted into fuckin' scrap-metal! _That's_ what happened!"  
In a fit of rage, Scott landed a punch into a nearby bulkhead.  
"We're stuck on this great, heaving space-brick!"

"Heads up everybody!" Ardy exclaimed to the rest, "We've got company!"

-

* * *

-

Overhearing the dilemma, Peppy made a suggestion.  
"Hold on Commander, you may not have fighters anymore, but I think I have an idea..."  
Peppy looked out of his cockpit to the news-craft, still waiting on the sidelines.

-

* * *

-

Back aboard Lylat Tribune #8, the news crew were in the middle of recording another hit  
"...was an attack just now, but the squad was able to dispatch the unidentified hostiles easily~"

"Cut!"  
The vixen stepped away from the camera and back to the cockpit controls.

"What is it now, Vixy?"

"There's someone trying to get on the comm again. I'll just patch it through..."

When she opened the channel, the two news crew were greeted by a rabbit Cornerian pilot.  
"Excuse me ladies, you two aren't too busy right now, are you?..."

-

* * *

-

The group aboard the prison ship had come under fire. Although difficult to make out, a group comprised mostly escaped prisoners had taken positions at the end of the hall just outside engineering. The unsavory gunmen were laying-down a steady stream of blaster-fire against Star Terrier, pinning them where they stood.

It seemed the trap had finally sprung, and at the worst possible time. Funny how traps tend to work that way.

"Gus, Ardy, Boris!" Scott shouted from behind cover, "You three go on ahead and plant that charge. The rest of ye, are with me. We're to hold off these brigands as best we can."

The squirrel, heron and bear continued deeper into the bulky bowels of the engineering section with their explosive payload. The remaining four took positions at the main entrance in preparation to hold back the onslaught.

Scott drew a large-caliber handgun and gave it a little twirl.  
"I don't know about the rest o' ye..." He cocked the heavy blaster before taking aim down the hall, "...but I've been _itching_ fer a good firefight meself."  
The terrier let a few hefty shots fly.

-

* * *

-

"You want us to do _what?!_"  
Victoria, the blue-gray dove journalist, was more than a little dismayed,  
"We're the _news crew,_ not soldiers, you hear?"

"Our squad-mates are trapped on that ship!" Peppy made his case, "You two have the only spacecraft here that can get them out alive. If I had it my way, I wouldn't be asking you, but these are pretty stiff circumstances we're in right now. So will you help us or not?"

Vixy, made an inquiry to the rabbit,  
"Suppose we said 'yes', you'd provide some kind of protection I assume?"

"Of course, lieutenant Grey and I will have your back. I can't promise you it'll be safe, but you'll have the best protection we can provide."

The journalist and the producer had a brief, however heated, discussion.  
"We're not doing it Vixy, it's too dangerous."

The vixen wasn't going to stand for that.  
"I've watched good people _die_ today Victoria. If we can do something to stop it happening again, if we can do something to help, then I say we go for it."

"Fine!"  
The dove woman hid her anxiety beneath a veil of animosity, and more than a little sarcasm.  
"If you want to stick our necks out for these _high-and-mighty_ army chumps, then by _all _means, go right ahead. We won't be shot at or _anything_!"

"Shall I take that as a 'yes'?"  
Peppy Hare was still on the other end of the channel, listening to every word of it.

Vixy answered the rabbit's question before Victoria could spout any more hysterical objections.  
"We'll do it. When do we start?"

Peppy gave a little smirk,  
"Right now..."

-

* * *

-

The little hangar was even more cramped after the explosive blitz. The twisted, smoking wrecks of the Cornerian fighters now lined the walls of the minuscule docking bay, at least those that haven't been knocked into space. The news craft and the pair of fighters each found a spot on the scorched deck where they could touch down safely, and did so. Peppy Hare and Lt. Amelia Grey quickly got out of their fighters with weapons drawn, looking for any sign of trouble...

Not finding any, Peppy contacted the news-crew.  
"We're all-clear out here ladies, you can come out."

Lylat Tribune #8 lowered its boarding ramp, Victoria and Vixy made their exit with full field newscasting gear. The dove journalist had her microphone ready, while the vulpine field-producer sported a camera over her shoulder.

"Is the whole reporter getup _really_ necessary?"

Victoria provided the appropriate answer.  
"This _is_ where the news is happening Mr. soldier, and we intend to capture it."

"Fine, just be careful not to become the news yourselves. We've had enough military casualties as it is, and I don't feel like adding civilians to that list."

While all that was going on, the rabbit contacted 'Commander' Scott Aberdeen.

-

* * *

-

The terrier, James, Chakori and Pigma were still engaged in a heated standoff with the hijackers when Scott got a call on his headset.  
"This _really_ isn't a good time Hare, so be quick about it..."  
He quickly dodged a blaster-shot while he listened to what Peppy had to say.  
"...That's great news that' is! I'm starting to like the ideas ye think up~ Hold up, I'm gettin' another call."

Scott fired a few shots at the attackers before answering his other call.  
"Ardy?... The charge is set? And how the fine fortune keeps rolling... oh nothing, just meet us back at the main entrance tae engineering, and we'll head on out."

Scott put his communicator away before addressing his comrades.  
"I's high-time we finished this..."  
The terrier holstered his handgun and drew his sword.  
"James m'boy, I need you to lay down as much covering-fire as ye can give me."

The fox reloaded his assault rifle before responding.  
"You've got it Scotty!"

James opened up an extensive volley of blaster-fire while Scott got out of his cover and into a combat stance with his blade ready.  
"Don't ye _ever_, call me 'Scotty' again."

Scott activated a device on his belt. He seemed to slow down for a second, as if in slow-motion –one could see the terrier take a full second to blink. On the very next second however, Scott shot down the hall at an unimaginable speed, leaving streaks of trailing blue lines with a ghostly blue image of himself overlaid on them. This lasted only for an instant before the terrier rematerialized in the midst of the bewildered gunmen. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, the sword-wielding terrier cut-down several of the assailants in a series of fluidly executed strikes; those who had attempted to block the whirling blade found their weapons cleaved cleanly in two by Scott's so-called impact claymore. Since the terrier was distracted by the furious melee, one of the hijackers was able to aim a clear shot on the berserk Scott. However, he didn't have time to land it when Pigma took down the komodo man with a few well-placed blaster-shots. The terrier dispatched the last of the gunmen with a quick thrust through his gut.

He removed the blade and cleaned the blood off before replacing it in the scabbard on his back.  
"What's taking them so long? They ought tae be here by now."

Scott tried to contact the rest of his squad on his headset.  
"Ardy?.. Gus?... Boris?.. Is anyone there?"

From behind the group came a haughty, mocking voice from within the entrance of the ship's main engineering.  
"Well done little canine well done indeed. You've performed far better than I had anticipated. Regrettably, your shenanigans will end here and now..."  
The voice belonged to the lanky monkey who had addressed the squad after murdering the captain, still dressed as a prison warden. He stood just within the engineering section, and now held the leopard woman, Chakori, as his hostage with a small blaster pressed against the her neck.  
"I'm afraid you'll find the rest of your accomplices dead. Would you believe they tried to sabotage our propulsion systems?"

James McCloud and Pigma were quick to get their weapons on the spindly primate.  
Scott pulled out his personal comm and tried to detonate the charge with it.

Nothing again.

The terrier was beginning to realize what's become of the mission, and what's become of his team.  
"I ought tae gut ye here an' noo fer all the _keech_ ye've hurled aboot. Good soldiers, the Captain, the guards, anw now me own fine crew..."  
He drew his heavy handgun and aimed it unsteadily -with his shaking hand- at the ape.  
"Give me a single good reason why I shouldn't make a nasty black smear out of yer head."

The monkey let out his best attempt at a menacing chuckle –his reason implied by the hostage he held.  
"I think we both know why you wont shoot me. Come now, if you would be so kind as to lay down your weapons~"

"Don't listen to him!" he was interrupted by his hostage, "He has reinforcements on the way! You have to get out of~"

He thrust his blaster against Chakori's head.  
"I thought I told you to be _quiet,_ madam."

Out of anyone in the group, the leopard, with her temperament, was probably the absolute _worst_ choice for a hostage. She carefully felt around the back of her belt, searching for the grenade she knew was still there...

Hostage situations are always a messy business, and its never clear what the right course of action is. Which is why James had to confer with his squad leader  
"What's the plan, Scott? Do we abort?"

Scott eyes darted indecisively around the hall, to Chakori, to James and Pigma, back to the leopard.  
Though Scott had every intention of slaying the monkey where he stood, James an Pigma weren't quite sure what to do. The thundering of a running mob could be heard further down the hallway, slowly escalating...

The leopard peered into the raging inferno of Scott's eyes and matched it with a sharp, ice-cold glare of her own.  
"What are you waiting for haggis? _Run!_"

She was close enough to the door controls to quickly punch the heavy blast-door of main engineering shut –sealing her and the monkey off from the rest of the group.

Scott tried to re-open the door, but found it to be jammed shut.  
"Don't be a hero, Chakori! Don't ye _dare_ do this tae me!~"

He was cut-off by the unthinkable: a fiery, consuming explosion from the other side of the door. The heat from the blast could even be seen as the door let-off a dim red glow, fusing it shut. There was no way in now, even if the door mechanism worked.

"_...What the fuck have ye done, ye daft las?!_"  
The frantic terrier hastily holstered his handgun and drew his impact-claymore. Even with the enemy thundering ever closer, Scott still readied himself to cut his way through the door.  
"I'm comin' in there after ye!.."

"Scott, No!"  
James pulled the terrier's sword-arm back and stopped him.  
"I know a thermobaric grenade when I hear it. She's dead, and there's _nothing_ we can do about it."

Adrenaline doesn't allow for dull emotions such as misery. In it's place is a fierce competition between fear, anger, determination, and a fleeting hope that it simply isn't so.  
"Me _team_ lad! Them bleeding bastards wiped-out me entire _team,_ just like that!...

James himself was still in shock from the reaction, but his combative mindset was still painfully aware of the imminent danger, still thundering ever closer.  
"Pull yourself together! Chakori gave her life so we can get our asses out of here! If we stay here any longer, we're gonna be outnumbered, out-gunned, and out of luck... As much as this shit hurts, we can't just let her sacrifice be for nothing. We have to abort _now,_ while we still can..."

Scott Aberdeen merely stood in a stony silence. Textbooks would refer to the terrier's state of being as undergoing a 'Combat Stress Reaction', many soldiers just call it 'shell shock'. But for Scott himself, it was simply _Hell_.

"_Comander? Comander, what's happening in there?..."  
_It was Peppy over the terrier's headset that finally brought Scott back to reality, and finally pushed him to make the call.

"Abort... We're aborting the mission, Hare. Be ready for evac, and be ready for hostiles."  
And not a moment too soon...

Scott Aberdeen, Pigma Dengar and James McCloud began their retreat through the ship, and back to the hangar they came from.

-

* * *

-

The two Cornerian Pilots took-up positions on either side of the hangar's main doorway; Peppy with a shotgun ready, and Lt. Pepper held his assault rifle held in a perfect 'basic combat-stance' straight out of the handbook: _'Field-Combat Fundamentals'_. The small news crew of Victoria and Vixy remained close to their spacecraft, but with the camera rolling. This was the setting in which Scott, Pigma and James rushed into –they dashed through the doorway and were followed immediately by a few straggling blaster-shots.

Lt. Pepper and Peppy were quick to lay down a field of covering-fire into the hall as they retreated to their fighters. But even with the two Cornerians pinning the enemy into the hall, some hostile shots still got past. One such shot landed squarely into Jame's right thigh –the shot burned straight through the uniform's fabric, seared into his skin and got to the muscle tissue. He collapsed to the floor while the Scott and Pigma passed him by –too focused on their own retreat to even notice their fallen comrade.

Vixy however, did see James' perilous predicament. She shoved her camera into Victoria's wings and rushed into the steadily escalating fray to assist him.

James McCloud lay sprawled on the scorched hangar floor. He couldn't stand, much less run on his shot leg, so he had to make-due with crawling. As the injured fox fired a few tentative shots back into the hangar entrance with one hand, something grabbed his other hand. When Jame's looked to see what had taken him, he was surprised to find the hand of a young and rather attractive vixen.  
"Aren't you the news-crew?"

Vixy hastily introduced herself while she maneuvered his arm over her shoulders.  
"Vixiene Reinard, Lylat tribune."

The fox returned the favor as he was helped up to his feet.  
"James McCloud, Theta-six." A stray blaster shot sizzled past.

"Pleasure to meet you James. Lets get you out of here before you end up extra-crispy."  
Vixy supported James all the way back to Lylat Tribune #8 and up its boarding ramp –all under a growing hail of blaster-fire.

Once everyone made it into the cabin of Lylat Tribune #8 or their fighters, the three spacecraft lifted-off the hangar floor and gunned out. The little flight was able to clear away from the daunting prison ship to navigate out of the gloomy blue nebula Sector-X. They encountered no hostiles on their way out, and quickly made the jump along hyperspace as soon as they could.


	6. From the Ashes

_**From the Ashes**_

Lylat Tribune #8 dropped out of warp over Corneria and made a hasty reentry. Aboard in a small storage closet, amidst cases of recording and transmiting gear, Vixy tended to a severe blaster wound on James' leg. The fox lay face-down on the room's floor with the right leg of his pants was torn off just above the knee, allowing Vixy access to the charred wound on James' leg. She was fingering through a first-aid kit when the prone fox asked her a question.

"Since when does a camera-operator for the news know this kind of first aid?"  
The vixen carefully removed the blackened, crusty skin with a pair of medical shears while answering his question.

"They don't. Most of the studio's camera-grips can't even apply a self-adhesive bandage, let alone treat a blaster wound. I'm a _Field Producer_."

"The difference being?..."

Vixy briefly explained her profession as she prepared a bottle of antiseptic.  
"A camera operator is just one part of a whole shooting crew, but a Field Producer is a one-man crew. Do you need me to go into detail?"

"No, I think I get it."

"Good, now this is going to sting a little..."  
Using a small cloth soaked with the antiseptic, she cleaned the raw wound –forcing James to wince as his exposed nerves gave a pang of discomfort.

"So did you tag-along on this mission _expecting_ to witness a complete and utter mission-failure? Or was this all just a happy coincidence?"

"I cannot _believe_ you people sometimes!"  
She set the cloth and antiseptic aside while she clawed through her first-aid kit again. James was completely oblivious to the insult he blundered into.

"What? I just asked~"

"I know what you _asked,_ James..."  
Even through her outrage, Vixy's hands continued to tend James' wound. She removed a skin-graft patch from its package and placed it on the open wound.  
"People like you assume that anyone who totes around a camera and microphone must automatically be a greedy, headline-hungry _vulture_ – waiting for crap like this to hit the fan so we can _profit_ from it."

She tore a wide strip from what used to be the right leg of James' pants to use as a bandage.  
"Do you ever stop, and for once _think_ about other people? Or do you simply jump to conclusions based on your flawed _judgments?_"

The vixen wrapped up the treated wound with the dark green cloth as James vehemently rebuked Vixy's claims. After all, what right did _she_ have casting judgment of her own?  
"The whole operation back there just went to _shit!_ Most of my wingmen are _dead!_ And my squad-leader is just-about _insane_ with shell-shock! Is it _wrong_ to not want your kind to take advantage of them as they are? And who are _you_ to go on about judging people? By the way you _talk:_ you must think I'm some cold, heartless, _bastard _just because I wear the uniform!"

It was only now that James McCloud looked forward, only to find Pigma standing in the doorway.  
"Is this a bad time?"

The swine's question tentative, as if he accidentally walked-in on something private.  
"Not at all, it's actually the _perfect_ time. What's up?"

Not quite sure what to make of James' sarcasm, Pigma cautiously pressed onward.  
"There's a guy over the comm asking for you. Some raccoon who goes by Cooney..."

"There, finished..."  
The fox's wound was fully dressed now.  
"...you've got some muscle and tendon damage, but you're set otherwise. Just don't put too much weight on your leg for the next day or so, and you'll do fine."

James couldn't help but toss in a little sarcasm her way as he got up.  
"Yes Doctor."

Vixy just rolled her eyes at him and put her first-aid kit away as the fox carefully brought himself to his feet.

"Seems Rick's finally gotten back to us~ ahg!~ _geez!_"  
He stumbled on his injured leg, and would have fallen over completely if Vixy had not caught him.

"I _told _you not to stress the leg! Here, let me help you..."

James worked himself free of her, and limped out of the storage room under his own power.  
"I don't need your help, I can do this myself."

He continued his awkward limp through the spacecraft's cabin. It was quiet, '_silent as the grave_' as some would put it. The avian journalist Victoria made herself busy in the pilot's seat –anything to distract herself from the reality of it all. Scott could be made-out in a nearby corner, drowning his despair in a hip-flask of whiskey before his emotions could get the better of him. Pigma broke away from James and simply paced nervously about the cabin.

With some effort, the fox was able to seat himself into the copilot's seat of Lylat Tribune #8. Richard Cooney was indeed on the other end of the comm channel, and a little bedraggled by the looks of it.  
"I'm sorry Jim, I should've known something like this would happen. At least you seem to be doing all right."

"I did my duty same as everyone else, Rick. It could've just as easily been me on the casualty list."

"I know..."

there was moment of silence over the comm before James continued.  
"Can I assume that you didn't just call to check-up on me?"

"Yeah, Jim. You've been cleared to land here at Fort Fenris, so we'll see you in a few."

"Is that it?"

"we're not on a secure channel. As much as I would've liked to hear more about the mission, you're just going to have to tell me about it at the debriefing."

"Sure, whatever."

Rick struggled to bring himself to say these next words.  
"Jim I, um... I..."

"...What?"

"...Never mind."  
But he gave up, and abruptly closed the channel.

After making it through Corneria's outer atmosphere, Lylat Tribune #8 soared through the starless, clouded night sky toward the Fort's main facility.

-

* * *

-

The room was the same operations room the squad was briefed in. This time, however, the lights were dimmed, and projector-screen was set-up at the front. By now, the main information-disclosure portion of the debriefing had concluded, and the soldiers took this time to review the images and video captured by the news-crew.

"...They're out! They're all out! The prisoners have hijacked the ship! Need assistance asap..."

Pete looked as if he were just dragged out of bed –the old rabbit didn't even bother to wear his uniform and just stuck with a flannel shirt. The mug of strong coffee didn't seem help Pete in the least. Rachelle and Rick -still in his combat suit- stood to the side of the screen opposite Pete. The table in the room had distinctly fewer occupants than when they were first briefed. Of the two-dozen pilots who began the mission, only four remained: Hare, Pepper, Aberdeen and McCloud. They were joined now by Vixy, Victoria and Pigma.

"It's over _brave_ pilots of Corneria. You, have _lost_. You're welcome to stop us if you think you can, but I'm afraid you'll find that your luck has run out."

"Freeze it!"  
The image of the monkey's head stopped moving when Pete ordered it stopped.  
"So _this _is who you were all talking about, the top-banana of this operation..."

The old rabbit turned to the Cooneys.  
"Ricky, Rache; I want a visual ID on this guy and a background check. Make sure to go over the prison staff files –we need to know who this guy is. Additionally, the _second_ that ship turns up, I'm gonna want you two get a look at it, even before the police investigators get their fingers in it."

"Consider it done, Pete."

James asked a question probably on several people's minds  
"Excuse me sir, but do you think this breakout is connected to Dr. Andross?"

It was the one question Pete didn't want to hear; but after giving his tired brow a furrow, he carefully answered it anyway.  
"Could be, but there are _plenty_ more reasons why someone could want that ship –If someone wanted _just_ that overly zealous egg-head, they'd have been more discreet about it. Rest assured that we _will_ find-out who is behind this atrocity, and we _will_ bring those responsible to justice."

Rick chimed in at this point.  
"We were lucky that the press was able to capture the footage we've shown here. With these images, we should be able to identify the origin of these hostiles, and track-down who hired them. Don't you worry, Intel is going to turn _something_ up."

The old rabbit had to bring this debriefing to a close,  
"We've lost good men and women today. Each and every one of them has served honorably, fought valiantly, and in the end: met their fates courageously in the line-of-duty. Remember them, respect them, but do not dwell too heavily upon them. As proud soldiers of Corneria, it is your duty to press onward in such grim circumstances where others may falter –your fallen comrades would do the same if your positions were reversed. So for their sake, and for the sake of all Lylatin citizens: do not squander their memories in misery..."

He must have given this speech countless times before. It had the feel of a routine, but of a long, weary one that could stand not being repeated again. Either way, it was a solemn, fitting end given such dreary circumstances.  
"You're dismissed."

-

-------

-

The lights came up, and the occupants of the briefing room made for the exit. Victoria darted out first; Pete, Rick and Rachelle talked quietly, but purposefully between themselves as they passed through the door. Hare and Pepper followed silently behind them. Scott then managed to sway his tipsy way out to the hall –shoving Pigma aside when he tried to assist the intoxicated terrier. The briefing room was empty, but James McCloud's injured leg still gave him considerable trouble as he hoisted himself out of his seat. He was alone...

"'Don't need my help', do you?"  
…make that _mostly_ alone. Although everyone else had left the room, Vixy was still at the projector to get her footage back. When she the data-chip of her recordings in-hand, Vixy sauntered toward the currently powerless vulpine pilot.

"What do you _want?_"

James allowed her to pull his arm across her shoulders, and then support him to his good foot.  
"_I_ want to make sure you don't mess-up that leg of yours any more than you already have."

Under any other circumstances, he would've been quite satisfied to have his arm around such an attractive vixen, but even James could detect the underlying scathing tone to her words. This could only mean trouble...  
"This about what I said to you earlier, isn't it?"

... and trouble it certainly was.  
"You've got a _lot_ of nerve to judge people based on nothing more than their career choices. You don't see _me_ calling _you_ a cold, heartless government-hired _murderer,_ just because you're a soldier. I've seen the kind of hell you go through firsthand..."

If James could've physically made a run for it, he probably would've.  
"I'm _sorry,_ Vixy. I didn't mean to insult you _personally._ That's what you want, right? – an apology?"

There was no way she was going to let him of the hook that easy.  
"Come on McCloud, lets hear the _whole story._"

"_Fine!_"  
If _that's_ the way she wanted it, _that's_ the way James was going to give it to her.  
"I'm _sick_ of the way the media, people like _you,_ will fuck with the lives of ordinary folks! I'm _sick_ of the way they'll lie about _anything_ if it means people will pay attention! And I'm _sick_ of the way people like _you_ make a killing off the hardship and suffering of good folks everywhere! So _excuse me_ if I seem a little touchy when I don't want my failure and the failures of my dead squad-mates to be taken advantage of for the sake of _advertising._"

If it didn't mean collapsing to the floor in a heap, he would've broken from her grasp and given Vixy the coldest shoulder he could. So instead, he would have to be content with simply averting his eyes from her; even though he was mere inches from her face, with his arm clasping her opposite shoulder for support.

After the tension between them was given enough time to crystallize, Vixy took the opportunity to gingerly shatter it.  
"We're not _all_ like that you know."

"Prove it."  
James blundered right into her bait, just as she predicted he would.

"For starters, flyboy: you're still alive."  
Not even James McCloud could dispute this fact. He was indeed living, breathing, and apart from a blaster-wound, quite healthy; many of these facts wouldn't have been true if she hadn't acted as fast as she did back on that ship.

"I'll have you know James, that I picked this assignment _specifically_ because it should've been nice and quiet; _specifically _to avoid the kind of mess we've gotten ourselves into. I'm just as tired of the whole media feeding-frenzy as you are –probably more so since I have deal with this on a daily basis. I can't help it if disaster strikes, and I happen to have a camera on me..."

The fox cut her short and dove straight into the heart of the matter, finally bringing himself to look at her.  
"You _really_ want me to say I was wrong about you, don't you?"

"It takes a tough gut to admit you're a bigot."

"_Hey!_"  
James wasn't about to let himself be insulted.  
"I'll admit I'm impressed that you'd risk your life for me, I'll also admit you're definitely _not_ the typical media-vulture I've come to know. But I am no bigot, and nothing you can tell me is going to make me say otherwise."

She didn't think about it; the opportunity was too perfect for her not to pass-up...  
"Prove it."

That, was the _one_ thing she could've said to James McCloud at that moment that would utterly baffle him –the _one_ response he wasn't expecting. Since logic and reasoning could not provide an appropriate response for her, higher-thinking was overruled; allowing instinct and emotion to take over in its place.

Their gazes locked into each-other's, each looking past the eye itself: past the white cornea interlaced with thin red veins, past the steel-blue iris of James and Vixy's green, past the black pit of the pupil... They each peered into something deeper,and enigmatic within the other. Slowly -apparently without realizing it- James McCloud and Vixy Reinard leaned further into each-other, and they were forced so close already...

Someone behind the pair cleared their throat; they weren't _quite_ as alone as they thought they were...

Logic and reasoning made a swift comeback. Now that they were thinking clearly again, the fox and vixen seemed to only just discover that they had closed to within less than an inch of each-other's faces. In their mutual shock, they simultaneously released one-other and backed away...  
"_Ow, dammit!_"

Both also forgot about James' injured leg, and the fox toppled to the ground in a heap...  
"_Shit._ Sorry James, I didn't~"

"Just help me up, will you?"

And so she did.

James McCloud would probably look back on this moment and ask himself: _'You idiot! What the hell were you thinking!?'_. Truth be told; he really _wasn't_ thinking, and by the way she flusteredly recovered her composure, neither was Vixy. They both could scarcely believe what they almost let themselves _do_ –they had let themselves get carried away with each-other too fast and too quick, all with their actions on autopilot.  
Despite _thousands_ of generations worth of developing complex cognitive abilities through evolution, people were _still_ at the mercy of their pheromones, and their base primal instincts.

As James was helped onto his feet again, the two noticed Richard Cooney standing just inside the briefing room's doorway. He held the cane from before in his hand, but obviously didn't need it now.  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

The fox tried to think of something...  
"No, no, not at all... we uh..."

...but only managed to draw blanks. Instead, Vixy supplied a reasonable pretense.  
"James and I were just about to swap _comm-codes,_ so we can keep in touch..."

She pulled her personal comm-unit from a pocket, and made every implication for James to do the same.

"Comm-codes? I mean, yeah, comm-codes."  
He got the hint and produced his own device.

"I see..."  
Cooney could tell that he was lying, but decided it was best not to drag James through any further humiliation. Rick simply stood in silence as James and Vixy set about exchanging their numbers.

"Mine's 261-6242, and you Vixy?"

The vixen punched a few keys before replying herself...  
"937-4043."

While James entered her code -and after making sure he wouldn't fall again- Vixy took the opportunity to break away to the exit.

"Well James, I'd love to stay and continue our _fascinating_ conversation, but I need to go find Tory before she gets herself into trouble. Perhaps another time?"

Supporting himself on the table, the fox pocketed his comm and looked up at Vixy standing by the door.  
"Another time, then. I'll see you around."

Vixy stopped just before she left the room, and turned back for one last acknowledgment to James.  
"Goodbye James."

With that, she left James McCloud and Rick Cooney alone in the briefing room. The older raccoon watched Vixy down the hall for a moment before crossing to the fox.  
"You like that girl, Jim?"

He answered when Rick came closer

"I don't know, maybe? Whatever the case is, she's definitely _something_."

"She seems nice enough..." The raccoon offered his cane to James as he replied. "Here, you look like you could use this more..."

"Thanks..."  
With the help of the cane he was given, James tried a few tentative steps.  
"So Rick, whats the deal coming in back here?"

He only waited a second or two before answering.  
"I need to talk with you Jim, and the others, privately."

"Others?"  
He didn't need an answer when a certain terrier staggered uncertainly back into the briefing room.

"Whae' th' fuck 's _sae_ imp'rtnt -hic-..."  
Scott was obviously drunk – very, very drunk.  
"...tha' ye n'd tae gi'us '_nothr_ debriefn'?"

He was followed by Pigma, who had a few pressing concerns.  
"Yeah, whats the big idea keeping us around? Some of us have to, oh I don't know, _find a new job._"

Peppy Hare came in after, and followed finally by Rachelle Cooney.  
"I'm a little curious myself. What would you guys, the secret-service, want with us? We're just pilots."

Rick and Rachelle took a place at the front of the briefing room to begin.  
"We've got a lot to talk about, so lets get started."

She handed-off to her brother here.  
"We know Lylat Central Intelligence had good men and women in this squad~"

"Leik _'ell_ ye did!" Rick was cut-off abruptly by Scott. "It wis in _mah _unit, All _ye _did wis hire us tae do yer dirty-work fer ye."

Peppy connected the dots straight away.  
"Mercenaries."

"You mean you didn't _know,_ man?"

The younger rabbit answered Pigma quickly.  
"I wasn't told, but I figured Intel had something like this in place."

Rachelle picked-up and ran with it from here.  
"You're right, Hare."

Twins often finish each-other's sentences, and the Cooney's weren't any different when Rachelle switched-off again to her brother.  
"After a little chat with Pete, we came-up with a slightly different solution~"

Scott interrupted Rick yet again.  
"Agh, quit bumpin'-yer-gums, Richard an' be oot wit' it!"

Rick paused long enough to make sure he wasn't going to be cut-off again, then simply cut to the chase.  
"We'd like to rebuild your team, Scott."

The room hushed at Rick's blunt statement. The exasperated terrier looked around the room: at James, Pigma, and then at Peppy. It very quickly became clear what the purpose of this 'second debriefing' was.

"...Yer'e _jokin',_ Righ'?..."  
He then pointed out each of them...  
"Dengar's nae bu' bloody _coward,_ Hare's an uppity Army _high-heid,_ an' yer lad McCloud is a reckless, thoughtless _galoot._ It'd n'ver work..."

Scott found his metal hip-flask, and took another deep swig from it to hold his anguish at bay. Rachelle took this chance to shoot-back at the cantankerous terrier.  
"We got _you_ to work, didn't we? And you're just a washed-up, loud-mouthed _drunk!_"

Scott nearly inhaled a mouthful of his whiskey, giving him a bout of coughs that sprayed the liquor across the room.  
"_So!?..._ Wa' differnc'e daes' i' make? Star Terrier as ye ken i' is _gone,_ _deid,_ lost fer'ev'r tae th' _merciless_ nature o' me business, an' yer' _never_ goin'tae get i' back!"

He tried his hip-flask again, only to find it empty when Rachelle made him an offer.  
"Then _start anew,_ you lousy brute."

Rick took over from here.  
"There is a _reason_ why Rache and I hired Star Terrier almost exclusively –It's because we could trust you and your crew not to squeal to _anyone:_ not to gangs, not to the underground networks, not to planetary governments – not even to the very interplanetary-institution I work for."

Richard Cooney's next statements were directed as much to everyone in general as they were to Scott.  
"There's no telling _what's_ going on or _who's_ responsible for it, but when the time comes, we'll need folks we can trust above all others to get the job done. As much as Rache and I'd like to sometimes, we simply can _not_ do everything by ourselves... The tangible assets of Star Terrier are still in-place and can be put back to work quickly and easily in the right hands. Otherwise, all your stuff will start sucking money away faster than a black hole. without qualified personnel to use it. Everyone in this room is qualified."

Scott simply slipped his empty flask into his back-pocket, and continued being a pain in the backside for the Cooneys.  
"Hmph, it _isnae_ goin'tae me, no' _this_ time."

Rick figured this would happen, and so played his trump card. All it took was a steady, purposeful gaze into his adoptive nephew's eyes –a look to tell James just what kind of trouble they were in, and that he needed his help.

James McCloud knew what he wanted, and gave the prospect a few moments of consideration. Of all the options for his life-choices: this was the most appealing -or the least repulsive- of them.  
"I'll do it."

The fox limped forward with the assistance of the cane.  
"I'll start-up a team for you guys..."

Scott was in quite an interrupting mood during that meeting...  
"An' jus' _hoow'r_ ye goin' tae do tha', lad?"

Even through the charcoal canine's drunken appearance, James could see the gears turning behind his eyes.  
"Why, with your help of-course, Scott –if you think you can handle it."

The intoxicated terrier gave it a thought, then lurched to James' side as best as his buckling legs would let him.  
"_Hah!..._ Ye'd be in _way _over yer heid wit'oot me. I suppose I can see ye through this, lad."

With the support of a veteran -if a tipsy one- the fox offered his invitation to the others.

"Peppy, Pigama, you guys want-in on this? Or would you rather go back to what it was you were doing before?"

The barely-adult swine could hardly believe his luck, and springheeled to be with Aberdeen and McCloud.  
"Hell _yeah,_ man! It sure-as-hell beats working engineering-crew on these rusted old space-tubs."

Peppy Hare didn't need to give it a second thought, and joined his long-time friend.  
"Between this mercenary work and the crap I put-up with in the military, I'd take a gig like this any day. Count me in, Jimmy."

James McCloud, Peppy Hare, Pigma Dengar, and Scott Aberdeen –an unlikely combination of individuals to say the least, but one that would prove to be instrumental to all of Lylat in the years ahead.

After allowing a few reflective seconds, Rachelle spoke first.  
"You didn't have to do this for us, Jamie."

The fox stepped out in front of the collection of four, and replied to her.  
"I've seen what mercenaries are capable of, and that kind of work is _exactly_ what I'm made for – even if it isn't for you guys."

Rick stood by Rachelle, and spoke this time.  
"Since Scott isn't going to start again, these guys will be _your_ team, Jim. And a new team has to have a new name."

James McCloud thought only briefly about this, and chose a simple name –just as Scott had before him.  
"We're Star Fox."

-

* * *

-

The office of a Cornerian Law-Judge is an intimidating place. The walls were lined with shelves, all stacked floor-to-ceiling with hard, paper documents. Some of the folders lay scattered on small tables, or the floor. these documents contained old or famous trial cases; cases that should never be forgotten. Despite the clutter of the room, the large desk in the middle of the office was kept meticulously clean. The occupant of this desk was an elderly snowy owl, clothed in a dark suit. He was looking through an old case folder when the intercom on his desk went off.

"_Mr. Korkae, someone is here to see you."_

The owl was surprised, but not startled,  
"Is it one of my scheduled appointments Pamela?"

"_No, but I really think it's in your best interest to speak with them personally sir."_

"It's _that_ Important?"

"_I'm afraid so Mr. Korkae."_

The owl closed the folder and locked it in a drawer in his desk.  
"Very well, send them in."

The large double-doors of Korkae's office opened. Two people entered: first, a small, slender ferret woman in a black, tasteful skirt suit. Despite her incredibly small stature, she appeared very in-control of her surroundings. She was accompanied by a tall, skinny, silver-hared monkey man holding a briefcase. The ape was dressed in a cheap, but appropriate suit for the occasion.  
"Ah, Miss Mustela! It's good to have you come again. I take it this man is your latest client?"

The ferret went straight for the point,  
"Indeed he is, allow me to introduce you to my client: Mr. Antonio Oikonny, delegate to the Cornerian Parliament."

The monkey gave a polite bow.  
"It's a pleasure to meet you in-person, Justice Korkae."

"The pleasure's all mine Mr. Oikonny. Please, have a seat both of you..."  
When the two guests had taken their seats, Mr. Korkae continued.  
"Now, I was told you had something of the utmost importance for me..."  
The owl waited for Miss. Mustela to inform him.

"You're familiar with the Andross case Mr. Korkae, correct?"

This both troubled and intrigued the aging fowl.  
"Yes, more familiar than I'd like to be I'm afraid. Even after this long, I still sometimes doubt my ruling. What interest is it to you?"

The ferret was very quick, as an experienced trial-attorney should be.  
"My client has produced some _very_ interesting new evidence on that particular case that warrants your immediate consideration."

The owl addressed the monkey himself,  
"May I ask _why_ it has taken a decade and a half to get this evidence, Mr. Oikonny?"

"I wasn't able to hire the necessary people until quite recently."

"Well in any case, you have it now, so let's see it."

The monkey handed the briefcase to the judge, who carefully opened it on his desk. The old owl was clearly astounded by what he saw.  
"Oh my _word_. Is this all genuine?"

Miss Mustela answered,  
"Everything in that case was uncovered by some of Lylat's finest detectives. If that isn't genuine, then I don't know what is."

The owl thumbed through some more of the documents in the case.  
"I suppose you'll want to have another trial in light of this new evidence."

The ferret woman answered again.  
"That was the very purpose of our visit, Mr. Korkae."

The owl gave his beak a thoughtful scratch before making his decision.  
"With Andross's case, It will be a very public, very heated trial... but I suppose we'll simply have to go on with it. I can't simply toss this new evidence aside when it could make all the difference. I have a duty to provide proper justice, even with such controversial issues."

The monkey carefully intruded into the moment,  
"Excuse me Your Honor, but I'm a little short on time. I'm supposed to pick-up my little boy, Andy..."

He was interrupted by the owl  
"It's quite alright Mr. Oikonny, I am not unsympathetic to the needs of a father. Thank you for bringing this to me, you've given me a quite lot to think about. I'll be sure to let you know the date of Dr. Andross's remedial trial as soon as I can. For now, I bid you good day."

The small ferret woman and the monkey man left the owl in his office alone. When his guests had left, Mr. Korkae opened the locked drawer in his desk and pulled out the folder he was looking at before. On it's outside, it read: 'Case File for: Enos Andross. Status: Closed'

The owl opened the aged folder and began reading through it again. This time, he compared the old documents with the new.

This would prove to be a very interesting case indeed.


	7. The Plight of Andross

_**The Plight of Andross**_

Roughly twenty-two years ago:

It was closing time at the district #6 branch patent office in Corneria City. A torrential downpour of rain drenched the streets outside, filling the office withan eerie hiss of constant falling water droplets. Inside, the small building's first floor consisted mostly of a modest lobby, and a window separating the lobby from a dense room filled -almost overflowing- with documents. The whole place was run-down, dated, cheap, and probably hasn't seen business for weeks. Behind a grubby receptionist's desk, a young, dark-haired primate sat, reading one of the magazines normally reserved for the customers. The only distinguishing piece of clothing he wore was a dirty sweater with the letters 'CCU' embroidered on the front.

When the office door-chime sounded, the ape lazily greeted the patron as he laid the magazine down.  
"I'm sorry, but we're closing for the day~" he stopped dead in his tracks when he looked up and saw who the customer was.  
"Professor Al'Sayif? What are you _doing_ here?"

The man who entered the office was an elderly camel dressed in a dark overcoat, drenched from the rain. He spoke with the receptionist after he hung a stiff fedora hat on the coat rack by the door.  
"I heard about your situation Enos -everyone has, really- and I'm going to be straight with you: It's not working~"

The young Andross jumped to a conclusion, and began to defend his studies.  
"But... but thats not true, Professor! Several Lylatin planets _clearly _show signs of deteriorating terraformation... and... and the anatomical structure of these human~"

Al'Sayif cut Andross' babbling short with a wave of his hand as he came closer to the desk.  
"I do not dispute your theories Enos, I merely dispute the choices you've made in presenting them."

The elder camel picked up the magazine Andross was reading before, the title on the cover read 'Top Quarks' –it was a science publication...  
"Every single scientific journal you've presented your claims to has rejected them, and turned you away: micro-biology, astrophysics, nanotechnotolgy, archeology – all of them. I'm afraid your obsession with Voyager and these 'humans' have become something of a laughingstock to the major science institutions."

Andross wasn't going to have that. He snatched the magazine back, stepped out of his desk, and began to pace about the dingy office lobby. As he worked himself up, his gestures became grander and more animated as his pacing quickened.  
"They _know_ I'm right about Voyager, Professor Al'Sayif. Those old _farts_ just don't want to admit that a fresh CCU graduate like myself has them all beaten to the _punch._ Just you wait, when my thesis is published, when everyone can see for _themselves_ that I am right: _I'll show them!~_"

Andross was caught off-guard by a swift backhand delivered by the elder Al'Sayif, silencing the young, egotistical ape.  
"_Listen_ to yourself, Enos! And _look_ at how far your damned blind-ambition has taken you!..." He indicated the shabby excuse of a patent-office around them where they stood. "..._nowhere._"

The last word was quiet -almost a whisper- but with no less intensity than if he had shouted an avalanche down a mountain. After this outburst, the older camel took a few moments to catch his breath before continuing.  
"As my best and brightest student, you deserve _so_ much better than this. From the moment you stepped into my classroom, I _knew_ you were destined for bigger and better things, and you have lived up to those extraordinary expectations right up to your graduation day. _Never_ in my time has any single graduate received so many doctorates, in _multiple_ subject-areas nonetheless. But you have squandered it _all_ with your own self-righteous _insolence..._"

He let the guilt wash over Andross. The young ape stood in the middle of the office, seemingly much smaller than he was before. The entire office remained devoid of speech, only the constant flow of raindrops onto the front window made any sound. Finally, the aging camel looked Andross in the eye, and made him an offer.  
"Now Enos, I must ask you: Do you _ever_ want to be taken seriously as an honorable man of the sciences?"

Andross gave his left cheek a rub where it was still sore.  
"More than anything, Professor."

Al'Sayif paced behind the ape's back as he made his case.  
"Then you will have to set Voyager aside, swallow your pride, and do some hard work. After all of your floundering, I doubt anyone will give you a decent job... but I may be able to find you a position at the University."

Again, Andross jumped to a conclusion.  
"I don't want your charity-jobs, Mashad. I'm not a student anymore, and the idea of working as a peon at CCU doesn't sound any more appealing than my current line of work here."

"That isn't quite what I had in mind..." Mashad Al'Sayif put a hand on the ape's shoulder and led him back to his desk. "You see Enos, one of our instructors was offered a position with the Cerinia Research Institute, and we'd be more than glad to send her on her way so long as someone competent could take her place among the faculty."

The look the camel gave Andross could only mean one thing...  
"You want _me_ to teach? But Professor, I'm younger than half the attending students!.."

"I know it's not what you want to do with yourself, but you're more than qualified for the job and -lets face it- you need the money. If you intend to go anywhere with the life you've chosen, then you _must_ establish a solid reputation; and for that Enos, there's no better way than to inspire a new generation of thinkers – _your_ generation."

The young ape sat back down behind his cluttered receptionist's desk, and for the first time in a long while, Enos Andross _thought_. He has calculated, conjectured and contemplated many times before, but rarely has he stopped and truly given _thought._

"When you've made your decision: please, do stop by during my office-hours."  
And with that, the elderly camel departed into the pouring rain, leaving Andross sitting behind his desk in the empty building – alone.

-

* * *

-

Seven years later:

_+++Incoming Call. Accept?+++_

_+++[Enter]+++_

_+++Decoding... Done+++_

_+++Channel Open.+++_

"_We've been compromised. There's been... an incident with Sauria."_

"How bad is it?"

"_Lylat Union Congress is about to launch a massive investigation into your operation. You have to abandon it – cut yourself off from it, now, while you still can."_

"All of it?"

"_Yes, all of it! Union Congress isn't going to screw-around the way your Cornerian Party-House of a Parliament does! They will send Intelligence in, they will expose you, and you will be indited for war-crimes, racketeering, and a whole mess of other charges~"_

"Alright! Alright! I... I need only to purge the files."

"_Did you find a fall-guy that'll work?"_

"I... well... yes, yes I have... It took a bit of effort, but I believe I may have someone who fits the bill."

"_Just give me a name, and I'll work-out the details on my end."_

"The name, of course... Dr. Enos Andross..."

"_Him? I thought he and you were~"_

"You see, not all men of science are so well-respected, Andross especially. I... I seriously doubt anyone will vouch for him if he's caught red-handed. Why, his peers utterly scorn him as it is~"

"_Fine, I'll work with it, but you'd better be right about all this."_

_+++Transmission Terminated.+++_

-

* * *

-

Somewhere in the halls of Corneria City University, a steady drumbeat of footsteps against the waxed floor was interrupted by a personal comm alert, and then a conversation...  
"You caught me just in time Trish, I was just about to arrive at my class. So, what seems to be the matter?..."

Andross had grown a little older in the seven years since he first took this job: his dark, coarse hair was pulled into a rough ponytail, and he was beginning to develop a respectable beard under his chin. The ape wore a casual button-front shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and also carried a beaten briefcase with him in one hand.  
"...Emma spoke her first word already? Are you sure?..."

Dr. Andross restarted his walk through the CCU hall as he listened with interest over his comm channel.  
"...Now dearest, I know _you_ can speak and comprehend Saurian, but that doesn't necessarily mean the _baby_ also knows the language... it's an entirely foreign linguistic system here in Lylat... No, I understand, but what do you think Emma will think when she asks what her first word was, and you tell her it was _'Xreh'_? What exactly does that translate to anyway?"

The primate professor's eyebrows must've jumped a few inches when he heard the answer.  
"_...Really?_ I think you should seriously consider waiting for the _next_ word, preferably one in standard Cornerian so _I_ can understand what my own daughter is saying to me~"

He stopped outside a classroom door, checked the number to make sure it was the right one, and brought his conversation to a speedy, but affectionate end.

"I'm absolutely _heartbroken_ to leave you now Trishta, but my next batch of students awaits me, and It'd be a terrible example to them if I were tardy. Surely you'd understand... yes, I love you too dearest."

Finished with the brief conversation with his wife, Dr. Andross deactivated his comm, set it in his pocket and took a deep, energizing breath before he opened the door and crossed the threshold.

The classroom was smaller than the grand lecture halls synonymous with the old CCU, but it still had all the premium amenities of other large-scale learning environments. It wasn't a place for hundreds of students; it was a place for a select few who had proven themselves to be a cut-above the rest. For now, the roughly twenty students sat at their desks and waited –some had their notebooks and pencils out, and others were a little worse for wear this early in the morning...

Not that it mattered for an ever-enthusiastic science instructor...  
"Good morning, and welcome to the orientation day of this Theoretical Nanophysics course, which means that you _lively_ bunch must be my class for the next semester."

He set his briefcase down on the table at the front of the classroom before continuing on.  
"Did you all find the syllabus over the network and read it like I asked you to?"

There was as general -if slightly tired- affirmative murmur amongst the students.  
"Good, I've only one thing to say about that syllabus: It means absolutely _nothing._"

Several of the students exchanged confused glances as Andross paced back and forth at the front of the room, gesturing flamboyantly when he felt it necessary.  
"Ladies and gentleman, you are about to take your first steps into into an _extremely_ murky realm of science. It is a place where the conventional laws of physics are bent, broken, and nearly _anything_ can happen. It's not that the laws you've been taught no longer _apply_ per-se, you simply must understand that undermining the laws of Physics, just like breaking any other kind of law, carries risks, consequences, and if you can get away with it: _rewards_..."

The ape stopped his pacing, and turned to address the entire class, undistracted by his movement...  
"Hyperspace-Vector travel, Graviton-Diffusion levitation, and virtually _every_ significant advancement in modern science all started in a classroom not unlike the very one in which you sit now..."

Professor Enos Andross added a pause for effect, then opened his briefcase on the table and retrieved an aluminum beverage can labeled 'Solar Flare' – a popular energy-drink.  
"But don't think it'll be easy, not for a _moment_. Because if you thought the oddities of Quantum Mechanics were a handful: then I'm afraid you haven't seen _anything_ yet."

The statement was punctuated when the briefcase closed with just the right amount of vigor. Still holding the closed beverage in-hand, the ape singled-out one of the students who was beginning to doze off.  
"Beltino Toad, is it?"

The drowsy young amphibian didn't even notice Dr. Andross pull his sleeve up a little further, and assume a pitching stance.  
"Hm, wha?..."

When the olive green amphibian looked up from his almost-sleep, he nearly jumped out of his seat with shock when he saw the can soaring through the air – straight toward his face. Without time to react to the whirling projectile, this was going to _suck_ for him, hard. But just when the energy-drink should've collided with the toad's cranium, it stopped, and hovered motionless in the air with barely an inch between the can and the shocked student's face.

"Tell me what just happened, Beltino."  
The quirky professor held a small remote-controlling device in his hand that he pointed at the floating can.

"I uh... I had a _long_ night Profes~"

"The _drink,_ mister Toad."

The can of 'Solar Flare' was still hovering quite freely in front of him as Beltino stammered out an answer.  
"Um... an interruption of the graviton-exchange between the masses?"

"Good guess, but I'm afraid that's not the case this time..."  
Professor Andross turned to address the class as a whole.  
"What I have just demonstrated is a perfect example of cross-dimensional relativity. If an object cannot maintain its motion through the dimension of Time, then it will appear to cease all of its movements relative to those still at standard-rate motion through Time. The object _will_ however, retain all forces subjected to it before it was impeded in Time. Therefore, this can still has all of it's kinetic-energy intact, and it will continue to travel once I restore its movement through Time. The details and formulas for which you'll all learn later this term..."

Once again, the ape spoke specifically to Beltino: who still starred fixedly at the can of 'Solar Flare' in front of him.

"So mister Toad, unless you would really like to experience first-hand the release of roughly twelve joules of that kinetic-energy into your skull: I suggest you grab the can."

The still-stupefied student took his professor's advice, and reached out to grasp the drink. When Dr. Andross released it back into Time, the toad lurched back slightly as if he had actually caught the can in mid-flight.

"Keep it Beltino, you seem like you could use the caffeine-jolt anyway..."  
Dr. Andross picked off a smaller device stuck to the can, the mechanism used to stop the flying can's Time. With both pieces, he turned back to address the rest of the classroom.  
"Now, are there any questions?"

A hand shot up in the back, which Enos prompted to speak.  
"How are your wife and the baby doing?"

There was one of these kids every class, so he simply took it in stride.  
"Well, I can't sleep at night anymore, but how is _that_ any different from my normal life? Otherwise, my lovely wife Trish and darling little Emma are doing just fine, thank you."

He now spoke more to the class as a whole again.  
"Contrary to the rumors circulating through campus: sucking-up to me does _not_ actually make me grade you any less harshly, though I do appreciate the effort. Now, are there any other questions about this course, my demonstration, or anything else I can answer?"

From the classroom door came one such question.  
"Can I talk to you, Dr. Andross? _Outside._ "  
Considering the uniform and the way his question was more of an order, the great, shaggy dog who spoke was most definitely a sergeant of CCPD.

"But of course officer. You'll have to excuse me class, I'll only be a minute."  
Dr. Andross exited the classroom with the same boundless energy he had upon entering. The last words the student's heard their professor speak coherently, were his inquires to the police.

"So tell me, how goes your investigations into my office break-in?..."  
The door shut, blocking most sound between the classroom and hallway. The frosted glass window of the door was only able to show gestures –which became more animated and agitated from Andross. The murmuring built, and the frenzy crescendoed until there was finally a hysterical outburst.

"No, _no!_ That simply can _not_ be the case! There must be some _mistake!..._"  
The voice of Dr. Enos Andross slowly died away as he was hauled away from his classroom.

-

* * *

-

Nearly fifteen years later:

_+++Incoming Call. Accept?+++_

_+++[Enter]+++_

_+++Decoding... Done+++_

_+++Channel Open.+++_

"_What is it?"_

"I'm sorry to bother you again after so long, but I fear I have no where else to~"

"_Will you cut the stupid groveling and get to the point?"_

"... I'm afraid our old-boy Andross is getting a bit, well... out-of-hand."

"_I thought he was imprisoned, taken care of."_

"He still is mind you, but he is also still managing to make a mess of things... You know of the new Titanian prison-colony, yes?"

"_I helped pass the legislation for that project in Union Congress. What of it?"_

"As you no doubt know, the Cornerian Parliament greeted it with their usual flamboyant, justice-happy gusto, and signed-up dozens upon dozens of our inmates to be transferred cross-system. Unfortunately, it seems Dr. Andross was among them."

"_And that's a problem because..."_

"...Oh, bother... For some time now, there's been quite a lot of talk among the people to appeal Andross' case –to reopen the old investigations. This whole Titania business is only going to stir-up even more trouble, and very likely open the old wounds~"

"_I swear, you and the rest of those Parliamentary delegates run a damned, quixotic, Party-House over there."_

"They do love to make a show of their legislature."

"_So what do you expect me to do about this?"_

"Anything to stop the floodgates; anything at all. It can only end terribly if something isn't done quickly, for both of us."

...there was a pause as the two of them thought...

"_I think I have an idea."_

"You do?"

"_Take the lead on this appeal, and push it through. If the Cornerian citizens are for it like you say, then it shouldn't bee too hard. I'll also need to pay a visit to Mr. Andross himself~"_

"What!? You can't possibly be serious! It'll unravel everything!"

"_Desperate times call for desperate measures Mr. Oikonny, and if the wave can't be held back, then we must learn to ride it."_

"I can't say that I like where this is heading~"

_+++Transmission Terminated.+++_

-

* * *

_-_

Age was taking its toll on Andross: his dark, tangled hair -hacked short when it became too long- was showing gray at the roots. And the beard now dominated most of his lower face. He sat in jail-cell that had been his home for the past decade and a half. It wasn't a particularly hellish facility; after all, Dr. Andross was merely a scientist, not a deranged, bloodthirsty psychopath. A minimum security, white-collar jail was all he needed. At this facility at least, their inmates were allowed notebooks and pencils –an opportunity Enos took full advantage of. At the bare desk in his cell, he sat dictating page after page of complex equations by hand. The ape knew these calculations by heart, knew full-well that these numbers and symbols represented the very fabric of reality. And with just the proper application of force, this reality could be bent to his will.

It was all Andross could do to pass the time, but today would be different.

"You have a visitor."

The primate didn't bother checking, but he knew for a fact that the speaker was a sharp prison warden; the one who works the afternoon shift. He didn't divert himself from his calculations when his prison door slid open, and he didn't bother looking back when the footsteps came closer –they sounded like expensive shoes...

"You've made quite a few enemies, Mr. Andross; powerful ones too."  
...and the speaker sounded like a man with an agenda.

"Be gone, and leave me to my work."

The unwelcome guest simply continued straight onward.  
"Do you realize though, that you've also attracted equally influential sympathy?"

Reluctantly, Enos laid down his pencil, and turned in his chair to observe his visitor.  
"What is it that you want?"

His guest was a tall, bald eagle man; probably in his mid to late forties, but it can be hard to tell with some of these avian species. He wore a clean-cut deep blue suit and kept his person meticulously clean. If hazarded a guess: one would assume he was a politician.  
"Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Andross. I am Senator Conrad Carrion of Lylat Union Congress, at your service."

Bull's-eye.  
"Get on with it."

"Straight to the point, I like that."

Andross simply waited for the senator to speak.

"Many in Congress and across the Lylat system -myself included- feel that you were imprisoned here unfairly and unconstitutionally. I and several others would like to do something about that."

The ape didn't believe him for a second, and stood up to the proud eagle man.  
"Do you think me a _fool,_ Conrad? I know why _exactly_ you're here: you would seek to exploit me for your own personal, _political _purposes. It was _your _type that landed me here in the first place, and I will have none of it any longer!"

Carrion was almost expecting that reaction, and was well-prepared for it.  
"That's a _real _shame, Mr. Andross. I came here to offer you one last chance for freedom. But since you've optedto decline, I guess you'll just have to rot-out the last of your days in a Titanian maximum-security prison."

"Titania?"

Conrad knew Andross' type well enough, and manipulated the ape's hardheaded attitude to his advantage.  
"You haven't heard? Just today, the Cornerian Parliament has approved your transfer to the new Mt. Khali Penitentiary on Titania. I know the place, and It is a deathtrap – whoever is sent there is _never_ coming out. And unless you change your mind about this whole situation, Mr. Andross: it will be your grave..."

The eagle's next words were just shy of a threat.  
"So, will you take _death?_ Or will you take _freedom?_"

Although still very suspicious of his visitor, Andross decided to at least hear him out.  
"I'm listening."

the avian politician paced slowly, and deliberately about Andross' jail-cell. And spoke with a similar careful, practiced air.  
"Someone is trying to get rid of you Mr. Andross; someone is trying to quietly sweep you under the rug of history. Thus far, they have been successful, but only to a _point_..."

The ape listened only halfheartedly to Senator Carrion's careful speech.

"Think about it: your trial was _rushed,_ your defense attorney was _incompetent,_ and the 'evidence' was stacked nearly completely against you."

Andross played along with whatever he was planning, and picked out the obvious hint.  
"You say the word _evidence_ in such a peculiar manner, Mr. Carrion. I assume there is a reason..."

Conrad got that gleam in his eye that only a politician or a lawyer could get when they know they're right.  
"The 'evidence' that was used against you, Mr. Andross, was planted."

The ape only rolled his eyes as he began to work himself up.  
"I've already suggested that possibility to the judge and jury before, and as you can plainly see, _that_ turned out _great._ What the hell would anyone want with _me_ anyway? I am only a simple man of science!"

The eagle allowed Enos a few seconds for his temper to cool, then pressed forward with his agenda.  
"You were, and still are, a controversial figure, Mr. Andross. The claims and ambitions you held drove your fellow scientists to hold you in complete disdain~"

Again, Andross quickly jumped to another conclusion, and got ahead of himself.  
"You mean to tell me I was framed simply because I made a discovery that upset a few people? You must think me a fool indeed, _Senator._ Not even the most opinionated, self-righteous, airhead of a scientist would stoop to _that_ level."

"You are correct there Mr. Andross. It was no scientist who had you jailed, but your position made you... a prime target to be blamed for someone else's meddling –a scapegoat. You _were_ in-fact framed, but not by any of your long-gone peers."

The aging ape was at least curious about the keen eagle now.  
"I suspected as much. Then do you know by who?"

Carrion did in-fact know, but certain truths must be omitted for his plans to work.  
"Our investigations are ongoing, but we know for certain that Intelligence was taken advantage of. Whoever had those documents falsified, planted, and hired those mercenaries, also tipped-off LCI against you. You were _used, _Mr. Andross. And as I said before, someone is trying to dispose of you, someone with influence. And on Titania, they intend to _finish_ you."

"Well Conrad, what exactly do you have in mind?"

"Even as we speak, arrangements are being made to appeal your case, but I do not believe they will be ready by the time you make the transfer~"

Andross angrily cut the eagle's words off.  
"Then you've told me all of this for _nothing!_"

"Don't be too sure Mr. Andross..."  
The avian politician's next words could only imply another course of action.  
"Regarding these sensitive transport missions, I am told there is a high risk of, _hostile interruptions_."

Andross knew exactly what the senator was planning, but he was still unclear on his motives.  
"Tell me Mr. Carrion, _why_ exactly are you going through all of this trouble for me? I am after all: only a humble man of science."

Conrad Carrion took his time before answering this question; not because he needed to think about the answer, but because he wanted Andross to think about it.  
"Many would like to believe that a government has some kind of control over a population, some kind of influence over its people_._ In reality, a governing body of the people, by the people and for the people, is ultimately at the _mercy_ of the people. One false move, one slip-up, one broken promise; and you can kiss your career in politics goodbye. The people are the harshest critics and strictest, the most demanding taskmasters. The people want _you_ Mr. Andross, and I am nothing but a voice, and a helping-hand _to_ the people..."

With his business concluded, the eagle made his way to exit the prison cell.  
"I hope your journey goes well, Mr. Andross. And remember; this conversation did not happen."


	8. Action Flicks and Video Games

_**Action-Flicks and Video-Games**_

Buildings dominated downtown Corneria City...

Massive structures of steel, concrete and glass sprung thousands of feet upward –as if in a race to reach the sky above, or to escape the the dense urban sprawl below. It was early in the afternoon, the streets and sidewalks here were busy with the notorious tail-end of lunch hour. Men and women of a great variety of species hustled through the shifting sea of people; many donning the traditional shirt-and-tie, some with a jacket or other accessory. Each individual had a destination in-mind, and each was intent to arrive there as promptly as possible...

Somewhere within these bustling streets, a hovering transit-bus gently lurched to a halt at a designated bus stop. After the bus expelled four of its passengers, it grumbled off along the asphalt veins of the metropolis once more...

The impatient voice of James McCloud had stiff competition from the surrounding din of the city, but he made himself heard nonetheless...  
"So, are you going to tell us now, Scott? What _exactly_ it is we're doing here in the financial district?..."

He, Peppy Hare, Pigma Dengar and Scott Aberdeen all dressed casual here in the big-city. For James, that meant a rough leather jacket, but still with his Katina military-issue pants. Peppy, even after his recent resignation, still wore an unmarked Cornerian army field jacket. Pigma kept to a simple fleece vest over his shirt. Of all of them, Scott was the odd man out in a tweed sportcoat and a plaid patterned flat-cap –which the terrier very likely referred to as a 'bunnet', and anyone else might call a 'cabby cap'...

The dark terrier strolled a short way down the crowded city sidewalk while everyone else followed his lead. Now that Scott was sober, his drunken hysteria over the loss of Star Terrier subsided, and in it's place was a subdued bitterness offset by a stubborn determination to remain sane...

He stopped only for a moment, and answered the auburn fox over his shoulder...  
"Did ye think i' wis goin'tae be easy, m'boy? Startin'-up a whole new mercenary unit?"

James came up alongside the terrier, took a deep breath and gazed along the steel and concrete canyons before him...  
"How hard could it be?"

Scott cocked a eyebrow and allowed himself a tiny chortle.  
"Pork-Chop, did ye remember what I telled ye when ye signed on for me ol' crew?"

Pigma stepped up at being asked a question...  
"Sure do."

The terier stepped away from the group and considered the buildings nearby...  
"Tell McCloud an' Hare why don' ye?"

The youthly swine was left with James and Peppy curious, and waiting for him to say something...  
"Well, it's like this see..."

Pigma sucked-in his gut as best he could, and gave the military trained folks the lowdown...  
"Do you folks call the construction-crew when your toilet clogs? No, you don't need your house rebuilt, you just need your toilet fixed, so you call a plumber instead. When your car breaks down, do you call the manufacturer and ask them to fix it? No, you call a mechanic..."

The swine took a quick pause, and made sure James and Peppy were following what he said. Satisfied, Pigma went on...

"Now lets take that a step further. Say you come across some highly valued item that you need shipped cross system, and you want to make sure it gets to your destination on-time and safe from the pirates and bandits. Do you call-up the military? Or set up a long-term security contract?"

James followed Pigma's line of thought to its logical conclusion...  
"No, you hire mercenaries to escort for the one flight."

"_Exactly..._"  
"We mercs fill-in the gaps, the little niches left by the military, which only deals with the big stuff, and the bloated corporate contractors, who mostly take long-term security deals. Guys like us are kinda more on a job-by-job, 'call as you need us' setup, and we're a good step up from gangs and two-bit thugs. Think of it sorta like running a small shop, or a doctor's house-call operation, only we offer more... combat oriented services. In a nutshell: we're the flight-support, and sometimes the spec-ops, for _everyone_..."

"And how do you know all this about the mercenary business?"

"Long story, no time..."

Peppy Hare was still a little lost outside the rigidity of his military service.  
"That still don't explain what we're doing here in the 'land of a thousand banks'. How could any small-scale combat operation possibly relate to the finance-industry?..."  
He gestured toward the entrance of the building they had stopped outside of...

It was the one Scott was observing, and one of the many monumental skyscrapers that defined the Corneria City skyline. Its front had a small flight of stairs leading up to a set of reinforced glass doors and windows, which revealed a simple, but elegant lobby within...

Scott returned to the group and offered a sigh at Peppy's remarks...  
"This isnae Boot-Camp anymore, lads. 'Star Fox' is nae military codename, but tis a _brand-name..._ Like Pork-Chop said, this team o' yer's is goin'tae be a full-blown business, an' ye'll have tae treat it as such. Tha', is why we be amongst th' money-grubbers –now come on, we've a wee bit o' financial finaglin' tae do..."

Scott Aberdeen began to climb the steps of the office building; his words were enough of a prompt for the rest to follow him inside.

* * *

The frame of the image jostled violently for a few seconds, then became stable –sort of. The image was still a little jittery, but the scene could be clearly distinguished.

It was aboard the meager hangar of the ill-fated prison ship. Even with Hare and Pepper laying down a crossfire into the open entrance, a few blind blaster shots still managed to sizzle through from the disorganized mob...

The video-frame lurched to another area. Armed with an assault rifle and wearing a Cornerian Army flight-core uniform, a brown furred fox did his best to scramble backward along the hangar floor. He was badly wounded in his leg and couldn't stand, but still kept his weapon aimed at the entrance...

Another figure entered the frame. A bright coper furred vixen sprinted into the fray amidst the growing flurry of weapons-fire to assist the fallen soldier. She knelt by the fox's side, and took his empty left hand in her own. The soldier flinched, and quickly turned his head to see who had taken him...

The video frame froze.

Vixy Reinard was back in the Lylat Tribune studios –specifically in a quiet, darkened editing studio where she fiddled with her captured footage. The vixen sat in front of a computer monitor running a video editing application with James' face clearly visible in the frame. She found herself steadily zooming in on the the fox's head. he had that very same puzzled, but not quite fearful expression on his face as the time Vixy and he nearly~

"What'cha working on there, Vix?"  
She hadn't even noticed that Victoria had entered the dim room.

"Nothing!... Just, looking over the footage from the other day..."  
Vixy pressed a key on the computer's keyboard...

+++[Delete]+++

...and the program froze-up.  
Great.

The avian journalist closed the door behind her and crossed between the other computer desks to get to Vixy.  
"You've been sealed up in here for hours now, so I thought you could use a little, _chemical stimulation..._"  
Victoria set a paper coffee cup down beside the keyboard. A wisp of steam drifted out of the tiny opening in the lid –releasing the warm, bittersweet aroma...  
"...black with sugar: just the way you like it."

The vixen's eyes darted back and forth, searching for a distraction...  
"You really shouldn't have, Tory."

The blue-gray crested dove positioned herself over Vixy's shoulder...  
"Oh come on, what are friends for?~"  
She noticed the slightly confused face of James McCloud dominating the entire frame of the editing screen –what Vixy was 'working on'.  
"...'looking over the footage' _indeed..._ Got the hots for soldier-boy, do you?"

The vulpine producer's ears flattened against her head, –equivalent to a blush if skin were exposed. There was no getting around it now.  
"It's not what it looks like~"

Victoria clicked her petite beak and snickered at her flustered friend...  
"You of all people Vix, know I can tell when my interviewee is lying, and you've got to be among the _worst_ at it."  
She took another look at the computer monitor...  
"Besides, this guy seems pretty slick, it can't be _that_ embarrassing."

Stalling for time, Vixy took the steaing-hot coffee in her hand, and cautiously sipped the dark beverage. She took another look at James' image, and gave-up trying to deny it...  
"I guess he's kinda cute when he's clueless... Do you _really _want to know?"

Victoria Goura swiveled another chair into place, and took a seat. Even if she didn't intend to put it in the air, few things could thrill a reporter like her more than learning about a new tidbit of juicy gossip –exactly the kind of info Vixy Reinard was about to spill.  
"Do tell..."

* * *

Scott Aberdeen emerged from the classy mens' bathroom to the equally classy and sleek halls of an office building. Every element of the building's interior design suggested a sense of cleanliness, organization and above all: power. The stone floors were waxed to a shine, what few potted plants there was were all neatly trimmed, and the walls were blank of any art –as if the building itself was to be considered art...

James McCloud and the rest in their casual street-clothes seemed out of place in such a sterile environment.

The charcoal terrier carefully adjusted his plaid patterned flat-cap before reuniting with the other three...  
"Sorry tae keep ye waitin' lads, but when th' duty o' th' throne calls, ye've nae choice but tae oblige."

He led the three younger prospective mercenaries down the spotless marble floored hall toward a grand entrance to an office, complete with a secretary's post just outside the door.

The secretary herself was a sharp feline with jet-black fur which made her piercing yellow eyes almost jump out at the newcomers...  
"Do you have an appointment?"

Scott set an elbow on the receptionist's desk "Aye, fer Aberdeen."

The secretary checked on her computer monitor to confirm the name and time.  
"Late again, as always... Señor Banderos will see you now."

"Why thank ye..."  
Scott took his arm away from the desk, and continued past toward the oversized door ahead.

He was stopped when James had a prying question he needed to ask him...  
"Just what kind of 'financial finagling' did you have in mind here, Scott?"

"When ye're startin' a business m'boy, ye've got tae open a business _account,_ take-oot a business _loan~_"

The fox took Scott's shoulder and turned him around to look him in the eye...  
"But there's something you're not telling us."

The terrier cocked another smug eyebrow...  
"Oh, zar'afact lad?..."

He removed himself from James, opened the office door and led the other three inside.  
It did not seem possible, but the lavish executive office seemed even more sleek, more clean, and more crisp than the hall outside. The main difference in this room was the coloration –where the halls outside were mostly of stark whites and blacks, the office itself took on more earthen, sandy tones with the occasional bright and vibrant highlights...

"¡Aberdeen mi amigo, you're early!"

From behind a wide, imposing executive's table-desk, a formidably built bull -with a rich, bronze fur tone- stood up. He wore a spotless white three-piece suit, an intricate nose-ring of the purest gold, and his horns were polished to a shine and sharpened to a point. This bovine was a man of power, but a hospitable one at least...

"And you _tres_ must be los hombres Aberdeen has told me about. Please, do have a seat..."

He directed the group of four away from his immense desk to a discrete, but no less stately conference table at one end of his office. When James, Peppy, Pigma and Scott had all taken a seat around the table, the bronze bull proceeded to introduce himself.

"I, am known as Martino Álvaro Rico Estavan Banderos, and we have much to discuss..."

The bull unlocked and opened an elegant mahogany humidor already set on the table. He seemed to have done this many times before, and it was something of a standard gesture of hospitality for him...

"¿Cigarro? I only stock the finest Zonessian hand-rolled blends –any of which will make a filthy little cigarette seem as _garbage_ by comparison..."  
With the small, open humidor in his hand, the bull presented his exquisite cigar selection and offered them to his guests –only one of whom took Martino up on his offer...

"_Classy,_ don't mind if I do..."  
Pigma carefully selected a regular parejo-style cigar, sliced the end off with the cutter provided, and then realized~  
"Any of you got a light?"

Scott had been waiting patiently for this precise moment.  
"I got yer light right here Dengar..."

In what seemed less than an instant, Scott slipped a blaster-handgun out from under his cap, caught it, and fired a single blazing shot through the end of Pigma's cigar –which did indeed light it.

There wasn't time for the rest of the group to react to these actions...

No sooner had the shot been fired, than a sandy-furred cougar janitor, and the much darker secretary from before burst into the office. Both felines were armed with sleek, easily concealable blasters and stood ready for action as they scanned the office...

But before the duo had a chance act, Banderos set his cigar humidor down and barked to them in a stern foreign dialect...  
"¡Parada, no encienda!"

His words caught the two determined felines off-guard, particularly the 'janitor'.  
"_¿Qué?_ Pero, el fuego del arma~"

The bull snorted and rolled his eyes...  
"Es _nada, _Caluroso_. _Ahora vaya..."

Banderos left his guests to usher the gunmen out of his office. He wasn't shocked or angry at the sudden turn of events in his pristine office, but he did seem a little annoyed.

Peppy Hare was the first to break the speechless silence.  
"Now _there's _something you don't see everyday..."

Pigma Dengar didn't seemed phased in the slightest. He simply smoked the thick, dark cigar and carried on as if nothing unusual had just happened...  
"Oh _man,_ Marty wasn't fucking-around about these things: _de-lectable~_"

James McCloud became irritable in this tense and confusing moment.  
"Pigma!"

"What? They are~"

"Scott just lit-up that cigar with a _blaster! _Two goons in disguise just burst into this office, and the _banker_ sent them packing!... Now is someone gonna tell us what the heck just happened here?"

Peppy kept a cooler head about him, and noticed other telltale signs that there was more to Martino Banderos than simply a successful banker...  
"Not to mention the lack of weapons-fire alarms going off. I'm pretty sure those are supposed to be standard in all major financial institutions."

The swine blew a quick smoke-ring before confirming the suspicions.  
"Oh, yeah... Funny thing about Marty: he's an underground mob-boss."

James had a hard time believing what he just heard.  
"A _What?_"

Peppy's reaction wasn't quite as extreme.  
"Really?"

The mildly offended bovine host returned to the table, where he found that two of his guests were a little more than surprised by Pigma's revelation.  
"¿Was it _truly_ necessary to nearly make my bodyguards' day, Aberdeen? And how did you did you manage to get that thing past security?"

Scott gave the weapon Banderos was referring to a little twirl, and allowed himself a halfhearted chuckle –satisfied with his bold and cunning maneuver.  
"Ah' did'nae. Yer man Caluroso _always_ keeps a spare pistol in the cludgy tank. Tha' cougar o' yers _really_ ought tae find a better spot fer these things..."

He set the blaster on the table before going on.  
"...Th' thing is Marty, the lads here are goin'tae do business with ye, so they have a right tae ken what it is ye do fer a livin' –th' _full_ bhooner."

The bull picked up the blaster off the table, and examined it to make sure it was one of his.  
"You could have _asked, _amigo."

"I'm jus' tryin' tae make a point, ye _ken?_"

"Of course..."  
Banderos dropped the weapon into his ornate cigar humidor, closed the lid, and took several carefully measured seconds before launching into his spiel.

"...Let me pose a question to you buenos hombres. ¿Is what _I_ do any worse than what any of my colleagues next door do? Or what your proud politicians get away with every day? They may act within the laws, but their intentions are often _far_ from benign. Now I may act outside the established laws, but I can assure you -and Aberdeen will vouch for me- that my intentions have... a greater purpose in mind."

James eyed his host suspiciously...  
"And what would that be..."

The bull calculated what he would need to disclose to satisfy James' curiosity without compromising his own discretion. It was a careful and practiced dance of words, designed to imply an answer without revealing any details that may prove troublesome.  
"If you take a little time to examine it, you will find the Black Market, much like any other market, can be encouraged, influenced, cohered, and dare I say: _tamed._"

That answer wasn't good enough for the brash and insistent James McCloud.  
"How can you possibly tame a market of drug-cartels, gun-runners, pirates and thugs?"

Banderos returned a businessman's gaze to the fox...  
"With a steady hand, and a little creativity. What you refer to is known as 'vice', and as far as the economics behind it are concerned, they are simply commodities to be demanded, supplied, bought and sold –the same as if you were to purchase groceries."

"And just _how_ do you fit into that mess?"

The fox was beginning to ask a few more questions than Martino was comfortable answering, so he subtly put a stop to James' burrowing inquiries.  
"_Muy_ quietly, and I'd like it to stay that way, Señor McCloud. Gracias."

Scott also got the hint, and steered the overly questioning fox away from dangerous waters.

"Tha's enough questionin' ootae ye, m'boy. We've go' actual bankin' tae do~"

"You ran your team, Star Terrier, on the mobs' _bankroll!_"

The older terrier gave _that_ groan: the kind you let-out when you have to explain a complex decision, but in such a way that it will make sense, and not provoke an ignorant, angry backlash.

"_Ehh_ yahoosir... Believe me on this lad, ye'll be far better off trustin' yer teams' assets tae Marty's firm than with _anyone_ else. Ye wanted tae run a _real_ mercenary operation, an' this is jus' the best way tae do it."

James was far from convinced.  
"But this just seems so... _wrong._"

Here we go...  
Now that the younger vulpine pilot had settled-down enough, Scott was free to properly make his point.

"Did ye think ye could jus' give yer'selves a name, start-up a team _willy-nilly_ an' say i's dandy? Did ye think _all_ ye had tae do 'was hop-in yer spaceships, point tae th' second star tae th' left an' fly strait-on tae th' mornin'? Did ye think it was goin'tae be _anythin'_ like those frilly, romantic _stereotypes_ ye've seen everywhere? If ye did: then I fear ye've watched _far_ tae many action-flicks an' played _far _tae many vidy-games..."

The terrier allowed his words enough time to sink-in, then proceeded to elaborate on them.

"Remember whae I telled ye aboot Star Fox as a brand name? Ye're nae longer in th' marchin' lock-step of military service, ye won' get orders from yer high-an'-mighty generals ani'more, an' everythin' ye've been teached aboot followin' orders wit'oot questionin'... i's nae but _keech_ here."

Scott got up out of his seat and began pace around Bandero's dignified little conference table.

"Mos' importan'ly: it _all_ comes doon tae _you_. Jus' like a business, ye'll have competition, ye'll have booms an' slumps, good an' bad customers –_Ohh_ an' don' ye get me _started_ on th' tangly mess of _accoontin'_. Ye're goin'tae have tae manage every _wee_ detail aboot yer team by yerself, cuz th' taxpayers an' politicians in't goin' tae do it fer ye."

He stopped alongside the bovine banker and leaned in on the table to emphasize his next points.

"As mercenaries: yer clients are goin'tae ask ye tae do things ye never would'ae considered otherwise -things that'll make ye _seriously_ question yer actions- an' _they'll_ be hauldin' yer next paycheck. In _this_ business, nae-one is goin'tae tell ye what's right or what's wrong –tha's somethin' ye'll have tae decide fer yerselves... Sooner or later, ye're goin'tae have tae make th' choice between what ye _want_ tae do, an' what ye _have_ tae do –i's nae goin'tae be an easy one, an' nae-one is goin'tae decide it _fer_ ye..."

He must've recalled the incident aboard the prison-ship –a time when he himself had to make one such choice. Scott took a moment to pull his nerves together, and pressed onward with his speech.

"Mercenaryin' be a dangerous, complex, confusin' an' all-tae-often _thankless_ line o' work. If ye lot can'nae handle it, there be _nae_ shame in backin'-oot. Ye can still stop right here, go back tae yer structured institutions wit' steady paychecks, an' _leave_ this murky business be..."

_This,_ was the real purpose of the groups' visit to Martino Banderos: to show the young upstarts what kind of mess they were getting themselves into before it was too late. It was the last possible point that they could turn-back, and lead a 'normal' life.

"...But if ye still wan'tae go through-with' this, if ye still think ye've what it takes tae make a _real _difference oot there: then it's got tae be _noow,_ or _nae_ _at all._"

They were all standing on the edge of a cliff, and they have just been shown how far the drop was and what was at the bottom. This was the final moment of decision; this was where they could either make the jump and take-flight, or turn back to safety.

In his indecisiveness and still-hazy grasp of the subject, James McCloud looked too his comrades sharing the table for some kind of input.

"I had no idea, Jimmy... I still think this is _nuts_, but we could _actually_ pull this off."

"Damn right Peppy-pal, this is the good shit –the _big-leagues_. You'll get to do stuff the army wouldn't dream of letting anyone but their spec-ops spooks handle, but it's all in a day's work for guys like us."

Then, at least for James McCloud, it was settled...  
"...I meant what I said back on Katina, and we're still going to do this. Even with all the complications you've shown us, we'll still make Team Star Fox happen."  
…and there was no going back.

Scott Aberdeen gave a weary, accepting sigh, then gave the word.  
"I figured ye'd say somethin' like tha'... Alright then Marty, open th' new account as we discussed, then transfer all assets an' liabilities from th' Star Terrier account, tae th' new one..."  
The terrier ended his spiel and rejoined the rest of the young, prospective mercenaries opposite Banderos.

"What's that gonna do?"

Although Scott didn't answer Jame's question, Banderos activated a state-of-the-art (not to mention absurdly spendy) holographic computing-interface, and began to quickly input a series of commands using the glowing 'keyboard'. He also took it upon himself to answer the confused fox.

"This new business account is to be shared collectively among the quatro of you. By the looks of it, you will receive: the deeds to a small flight of fighter-craft, a facility and equipment with which to run your business, as well as enough credit to sustain it. In essence, this account will officially incorporate you as a private military contracting company –as _mercenaries_..."

As the bull's fingers blurred in their typing flurry, the interface's display flashed up a series of images. Some of them were of fighter-craft, some were of a building, or a face, or a document –all of which flashed by too quickly to clearly discern. For all his shady dealings and underground connections, Martino Banderos was still quite clearly, and quite solidly: a banker.

"So... that means we'll be legit, right?"  
Peppy was only slightly less confused than before.

"Si, and _muy_ more, Señor Hare..."  
The bronze bovine paused his dancing fingers, and rotated the holographic interface to face his guests. The display read:

+++Confirm Account File?: "Star Fox"+++

"...When the enter key is struck, you will have everything your team requires to open for business."

James sat closest to the glowing interface which at this angle, vaguely resembled a laptop computer made of light. Peppy was in the chair to his right, and Pigma on his left; Scott stood behind them and leaned-in using James' chair as support. All of them savored this one, final moment...  
With the touch of a single key, four individuals at a table would become united by a joint banking account, by a single common purpose, by their kindred camaraderie and if need be: by their blood. With barely a lift of a finger, James McCloud, Peppy Hare, Pigma Dengar, and Scott Aberdeen would become what was once nothing more than a pair of words uttered by an ignorant young man to answer a question.

They would become _Star Fox_.

"Okay guys, here goes nothing..."  
The leather-clad fox reached an arm out, extended his index-finger, and used it to depress the key marked...

+++[Enter]+++

+++Processing... Done+++

+++Account File: "Star Fox" Confirmed+++

* * *

The lights were in the editing studio were now on –there wasn't much point in having a bombshell dropped in the dark.

"_Damn,_ Vixy! You never, and I mean _never_ get like this, with anyone. You always struck me as the indomitable 'no bullshit' girl, not the type to make out with a guy you've barely met."

The vixen tried to take another swill of the coffee, but found that the paper cup was empty...  
"I told you already, I did _not_ mean for all that to happen. I just wanted to tell him off for being such an ignorant, opinionated prick –I wanted him to _writhe_ in himself..."  
She punctuated that last phrase by flinging the empty container into a nearby wastebasket.

Victoria leaned back in her chair...  
"And you've _certainly_ done that Vix, perhaps a little on overkill side of things~"

"Its only mind-games, I'm only messing with his head..."

Even if Vixy didn't know it herself, the crested-dove journalist knew _precisely_ what her friend was going through...  
"You go ahead and keep telling yourself that, but you've gotta admit –you _did_ enjoy it, didn't you?"

Vixy Reinard was once again reminded just how difficult it is to successfully deceive a news reporter. As much as she tried to disown her feelings, it simply wasn't going happen. At this point, Vixy was playing more 'mind-games' on herself than she ever did on James. It seemed the vixen's attempted manipulations had backfired on her –and if she didn't own-up, Victoria was only going to keep reminding her...

At last, Vixy Reinard conceded...  
"Maybe a little~"

"_There,_ that wasn't so bad, was it? There's nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, Vix –especially a slick-looking guy like this McCloud fella."

"But I don't think I _want_ to be attracted to him."

The avian journalist rolled her eyes and gave _that_ sigh: the one which implies whatever Vixy just said was probably just her being timid about her feelings, _again_.  
"Why not?..."

"I'll probably just make him angry, and he'll leave~"

Tory cut the vixen off before she could lie to herself anymore.

"You've got to be kidding me –are you _still_ hung-up about that big headed brat Phoenix?... For the _last _time Vix, if a guy can't accept you for _you,_ warts and all, then forget it. Arthur Phoenix just bit off more then he could handle when he got interested in you, not your fault at all. I can already tell this guy's going to be different Vix, so don't try to think too hard about it."

When diehard career-girls start to get feelings, they often aren't quite sure what to do with them, and often end-up doing some otherwise foolish things. It at least explains Vixy's fiasco back on Katina.

It was at this moment that the copper vixen's personal comm alerted her to an incoming call. She pulled the device out, checked the caller-ID, and was astonished to find...

"It's him..."

"Talk about a _coincidence_ huh, Vix?... Well go ahead and take it. This could be your big chance..."

Vixy hesitated for a moment or two. What would he say? What should _she_ say?...  
While her head was thinking, her hand had already brought the device up to her ear, opened the channel and James McCloud's voice filled the tiny speaker of the communicator...

"_You called?..."_

Wait...  
But...  
She _didn't_ call him, James called _her_. Something about this wasn't quite right...  
"No, It uh... must've been the wrong code~"

She was just about to close the channel when James stopped her.  
"_Hold on wait, don't... don't cut the link... I mean, just not yet..."_

"What is it?"

"_...Remember what you did for me? Sector-X? I... never actually got to thank you properly... You know, with all the~"_

Vixy cut him off bafore he went any further...  
"Don't remind me."

"_Sorry."_

Maybe that was a little harsh, they guy was just trying to be polite after all.  
"Anyway James, you were saying?"

"..._I was thinking I could... make it up to you somehow... I've got a couple ideas if you wanna hear 'em..."_

She covered the comm's mic to quickly give the crested dove an update, and to look for a second opinion...  
"Tory, he's asking me out."

Her avian friend got the hint, but needed a little info before she could help Vixy...  
"What's his plans?"

She didn't know, so didn't answer until she got some clarification from Jame's end...  
"I'm all ears..."

"_About twenty or so clicks east of the city,__ there's some hiking trails up in the mountains that are supposed to be spectacular this season – hows that option for you?"_

Again, the uncertain vixen consulted Victoria for her opinion...  
"Mountains, hiking."

The avian journalist mulled over the proposal, and gave her assessment of it.  
"Bold... but not a bad choice, not bad at all. I'd go for it."

With this little slice of friendly reassurance, Vixy took James McCloud up on his offer...  
"Sure James, a hike sounds pretty good. When and were do we meet?"

"_The place is a town called Pikke, and the time, 3:00 p.m. local time tomorrow, if you're free then."_

"I'll be available."

"_So... I'll see you there."_

"Guess so..."

And the channel between them closed...

* * *

...Mostly between them.

At the very same time, Pigma Dengar also deactivated his overly complex and highly modified comm unit before stashing it inside his vest pocket.

There is a clever technique out there known as 'channel-splicing'. With the right equipment, it is possible for a third-party to forge a comm-channel between two separate transceivers without the parties on either end of that channel being aware of the third-party's involvement. It has only a few practical uses, but for the right kind of person...

"That... was the most fucking awesome prank call _ever!_"

Lombardi's was a quaint little pizza-pasta joint nestled within the concrete and steel canyons of Corneria City's downtown. The interior was well-worn by decades of proud history: its exposed brick walls were scattered with countless mementos, aging -but enduring- furnishings were in place and kept ready, there was even an antiquated coal-fired pizza oven in the kitchen –the aromatic scent of of which was enough to whet even the most restrained appetite.

The whole place was quiet for the moment, as few people have lunch this late, or dinner this early. It was a conscious tactic used to avoid what would've otherwise been the overcrowded congestion of a mealtime-rush.

Pigma currently sat alone in one of the booths, but the extra soda-glasses on the table suggested that there were others in the party –even if they weren't at the table just yet. This was confirmed when young, gray-furred rabbit and a crotchety terrier approached the booth.

"Sorry aboot th' wait, but Hare could'nae decide fer th' life o' him what tae order."

Peppy and Scott both took a seat with the youthful swine, who gave an amused chuckle before responding.

"_Dude,_ it doesn't matter what you got –everything on the menu here is _primo_."

"And _that's_ what makes it so hard to choose... Whatever happened to Jimmy?"

Pigma glanced over his shoulder to the pizzeria's entrance.  
"He uh... had to take a call..."

The door opened to the sound of an old-fashioned door-chime, and James McCloud reentered. He crossed to his comrades at the table with a suspiciously elated swagger, and held a satisfied, expectant air about him as he reclaimed his seat at the booth.

"Glad ye could join us m'boy, an' jus' what wis yon comm-jingle all aboot?"

The fox was thinking about something else, and was nearly caught unawares by Scott's question.

"Oh, nothing much~"

Before James could be called out for hiding something, the pizza arrived.

"You fellas ordered 18-inch pepperoni?"

A slim falcon with a deep, cobalt blue feather coloration held the thin, wide concoction of crust, sauce, cheese and sliced toppings. Between his flour-coated apron, chef's jacket, and nametag reading 'Giovanni Lombardi', it was likely that he was both the owner, and proprietor of this establishment...

The hare answered Giovanni's question.  
"That's us, and I've gotta say this is some _fast_ service."

The avian pizza chef coolly set the pizza down on the table and responded to Peppy's compliment.  
"The _fastest;_ if you find a pie that comes out any quicker and tastes anywhere _near_ as divine, I will personally sock you in the face for bullshitting me. But seriously, enjoy it."

Giovanni then left his patrons to their food. James used this convenient interruption to change the subject away from his personal life...  
"Now that we're genuine, honest-to-goodness mercenaries, what do we do now?"

Scott intentionally delayed his answer, and transferred a piping-hot slice of Lombardi's famous pizza to his plate.  
"So long as th' bills be paid, m'boy: ye can _anythin'_ ye want."

* * *

The Cornerian High-Court was a commanding structure to say the least. The city planners went to great pains to position the court in such a way that all the nearby streets converged at base of the building's long, wide staircase. The court was also given at least thirty meters between between it and the nearest other building –not only was it safer to have that much space, but it made the court stand out that much more. The front facade of the High-Court was lined -much like any government building- with a row of imposing columns.

A primate man -no older than his early middle-age- stood at the base of the staircase. He beheld the grandiose building as he placed his foot on the first step –much the same way a general looks over a battlefield before the fight. His beard had been neatly trimmed, and his gray-streaked charcoal hair was groomed clean, allowing it to part as it would naturally. The ape was dressed as an intellectual: he wore a gray V-neck sweater over a collared-shirt, all topped-off by a rough sport-coat. It all gave the man a knowledgeable appearance, matched only by his demeanor.

He climbed the stairs of the Cornerian High-Court with same confident air of determination that a champion athlete has before the competition. The only element missing in the primate's expression was any sign of nervousness –he knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and had no intention to relinquish in the slightest.

The man cleared the final step before striding across the landing to the main entrance of the court. A bored canine doorman stood to the side, fiddling with a set of keys when he noticed the arrival of the ape...  
"Welcome to the Cornerian High-Court. Please state your name and business here, and we'll have you signed-in once we've confirmed it."

The primate held such poise, and spoke with a tactful, compelling air that could've held the attention of even the most distracted.  
"My name, is Enos Andross. And I am here for nothing less than my own trial... again."


	9. A Dagger of the Mind

_**A Dagger of the Mind**_

-A few days earlier-

To say they 'marched' would've given them too much credit...

Roughly a dozen roughhewn types, dressed in orange jumpsuits or crewman's outfit with weapons in hand, entered the littered hangar-bay of the prison ship. Outside the containment-field of the hangar entrance was a pale gray nothingness, and the inside was mostly unchanged since the bloody ordeal before...

"Consider this your lucky day, Doctor."

The speaker was a wolf with a bleach-white fur tone, leading the cohort. He wore a prison-warden's uniform, and kept his guard-issued blaster in its holster.

"Is _that_ so?..."

Dr. Andross walked next to his lupine captor, and still donned the bright orange prisoner's jumpsuit.

Outside the meager hangar-bay; a sleek, black, but completely unarmed luxury currier craft began to materialize out of the foggy gray mists. After it passed through the main opening's containment-field, one could clearly see the official seal of Lylat Union Congress painted on its hull*.

As the sleek government spacecraft touched down within the hangar bay, the white-furred 'leader' of the bandits deigned to answer Andross.

"It's not every day that the officials care to negotiate with us –normally, they'd charge-in with their guns blazing. I would've had to use you as a hostage, rather than as a bargaining-chip."

The ape's response was infused with all the witty sarcasm he could get-away with.  
"Well, I'm _flattered_."

"Don't get smart with me, Doctor."

"Would you prefer it if I became foolish with you?"

The wolf just rolled his eyes in a disgusted annoyance –he'd be more than glad to finally have Andross off his hands.

And none too soon: Senator Conrad Carrion had only just emerged from the dark craft. The eagle wore his usual navy-blue suit and was followed closely by a raccoon secret-service agent –distinguished by his simple black suit, earpiece, and dark glasses. The agent also carried a thin aluminum briefcase as he and Carrion crossed from the landed government craft to the group of bandits...  
There was a single subtle element that set this agent apart: he wore no left shoe, and in it's place was the foot of a sturdy cybernetic prosthetic leg. He was LCI agent Richard Cooney.

Once they where close enough, the lupine bandit leader greeted Conrad in an unbecomingly polite fashion.  
"You must be Senator Carrion, it's a relief to finally speak with a sensible public figure."

The avian politician replied with a similar civility, even going so far as to offer his hand to the bandit...  
"You'll find that not all policymakers are unreasonable, and to whom do I have the pleasure to speak with?"

The pale wolf considered it for a second, then returned Conrad's handshake.  
"I'd like to remain anonymous~"

He was interrupted by the captive -and thus far uncooperative- Enos Andross.  
"_Could_ we hurry this along?"

The lupine hijacker barely hid an irritated scowl, but his bright fur still stood-up –betraying his otherwise hidden agitation. The sooner he got rid of this ape, the better.  
"...Your prisoner, _Andross,_ is here and well enough... If you've brought what we agreed to exchange, then lets get this over with."

Carrion gestured for the raccoon to step forward.  
"Mr. Cooney, if you don't mind..."

Rick nodded, took a step toward the bleach-white wolf, and opened the metal case to present its contents: apparently nothing more than a simple data-module.  
"This hard-drive contains a program that will alter your communications array into a sensor-masking device. Simply plug it into your mainframe, activate the program, and you'll be able to pass through most planetary systems undetected by their sensors."

The wolf took the seemingly simple device out of the case and looked it over. satisfied with what he saw, the lupine bandit placed the hard-drive in his pocket and motioned for Andross to move forward.  
"...and here is the Doctor –just as we agreed on..."

Despite his haggard outward appearance, the ape walked to Carrion and Cooney with a kind of knowledgeable dignity about him...

The eagle received the prisoner with a subtly mocking delight...  
"You see? Even we Cornerians can be reasonable, and I too find it despicable that it takes a _hijacking_ to gain the attention of those in power. But perhaps this tragedy can usher-in a new era of compromise, negotiations, and ultimately: _understanding._"

Something about Carrion's speech got under the white wolf's skin...  
"Mr. Senator, those goals are _ridiculous, _given the circumstances..."  
The nameless bandit indicated the surly band of gunmen behind him.

Carrion offered his rebuttal in a political manner, as if his decisions were a topic to be debated.  
"We aim high so even if we fall short, we are still closer than not having taken the shot at all. One day, we may not have to meet in secret at all..."

The wolf's crew began to murmur uneasily, and it probably had something to do with Senator Carrion's overly friendly demeanor. The leader of the pack took control back, and got the government off the ship.  
"Just take your prisoner and leave –philosophy never makes sense anyway..."

The avian politician could tell he was at the end of his negotiating rope, and put a timely end to his carefully crafted mediations.  
"Then we'll depart in good company. Cooney, Mr. Andross, our ride awaits..."

The proud eagle strode back toward the government currier-craft with his usual, confident certainty with Dr. Andross at his side. Rick followed closely as his position required him to, but lingered a few seconds to glance about the hanger before entering the boarding-hatch himself.

The dark-painted government spacecraft lifted cleanly off the hangar floor and made a smooth transition out into the dense, pea-soup fog outside. The prison ship was maintaining a low hover over an immeasurably large water body of greenish colored water –which meant this was the planet Zoness.

The waters of Zoness did not actually get their trademark dull green tint from pollution, that's because polluted waters almost always ended-up _brown_. Zonessian seawater was instead, a healthy bluish-green from it's naturally high iron content. It just so happens that the sea floors of Zoness were home to the richest and purest iron-ore deposits in the entire Lylat System, and some of that metal would inevitably dissolve into the oceans.

Not only did such valuable iron make the seawater green, but it also made Zonessian seabed dredge-mining, along with its steel-refining, among the most productive industries in Lylat. So it wasn't at all conspicuous to find an ore-bulker ship out here...

As the sleek craft continued to cut through the gray mists, an immense sea-freighter began to materialize out of obscurity on the water's surface. This Zonessian ore-bulker was be somewhere between 600 and 700 meters long, among the largest of seagoing vessels in Lylat.

The sea-bound ship's hull design was fairly traditional, and appeared to be quite similar to an ordinary oil-tanker, but ore-bulker ships were far simpler –their only cargo being raw dry-goods, not liquids. So instead of a tangle of pipes and valves on-deck, there were a set of enormous cargo-hatches -almost as wide as the ship itself- which could slide open to allow access to the bulker's voluminous cargo bays.

Amidst the fog and the salty-metallic ocean spray, the dignified black spacecraft gingerly touched-down on a landing-pad at the bow of the ore-bulker's deck. Once settled, it smoothly released its boarding hatch to allow its occupants to disembark.

When the Cooneys (Rachelle was probably piloting), Senator Carrion and Dr. Andross exited the government-issued craft onto the deck, they were greeted by a canid man with a distinctly dark muzzle –the rest of his face-fur ranged irregularly between shades of black, brown and goldenrod. He was dressed as an ordinary seaman: complete with a heavy, water-resistant coat, a pair of sturdy work-boots, even a dark knitted tuque-style cap typical for deck-hand. However, he carried himself not as a civilian, but in the manner of a steady, even-keeled veteran military officer.  
"Welcome back Carrion, Cooney and Cooney. I take it by the presence of Dr. Andross that the negotiations went well."

It was the ape himself who responded, rather than either of the Cooneys or Carrion.  
"_Swimmingly,_ my good fellow. I don't believe we've been introduced..."

The seaworthy canidae offered his hand to the forward-thinking primate.  
"Captain Troy Lycaeon..."

The primate and painted were in the middle of a polite handshake when Andross asked the obvious question...  
"So _you_ must be the one in-charge of this ore-freighter, aren't you?"

Unsure how -or if- to answer the observant ape, Troy looked to the Cooneys. Rick gave the officer a quick nod, enough to imply that Andross was allowed to know whatever it was they were concealing.  
"...for the mission, I _do_ run this cute little rowboat, but the Captain's rank comes from my service in the Cornerian Army's Dagger-unit, not maritime authority."

Andross seemed to have heard of them...  
"Pulled-out all the stops for this one, did they?"

"We're not one to back-down from a good fight, Dr. Andross..."

Rick and Rachelle Cooney had taken side-by-side positions at the very front of the deck -at the tip of the gigantic ship's bow- and looked out to watch the silhouette of the heavy prison-ship begin its sluggish, rumbling accent through the gray mists. Both of the Cooney twins had their back to Lycaeon, but Rachelle turned her head to the side so the Captain could hear her response...  
"And a fight they'll certainly get. Have you got your Dagger-boys on standby?"

Lycaeon answered with the boastful confidence expected of every good soldier...  
"The soldiers of Dagger are _always_ on standby –just give the word."

Rick gripped the bulker's safety railing, and turned his own head -mirrioring his sister- to offer a further reply...  
"On the signal Troy, on the signal."

"_Right..._"  
The Dagger Captain turned away from the Cooneys and right into the just released ape. Andross, being the ever-inquisitive scientist, couldn't help himself but to learn more about his circumstances...

"I don't mean to _pry,_ my good Captain, but exactly what sort of signal are we talking abou~?"

Dr. Andross couldn't finish his question when the dull, heavy snap of an electrical overload cracked through the fog's hazy obscurity. The massive dark shape in the sky stopped, then began to plunge through the fog. It seemed to drop slowly, but only because the space-bound vessel was so large. When the entire heavy bulk of the prison ship finally met the sea, it didn't so much splash-down as much as it triggered a titanic _explosion_ of blue-green seawater. Ripples the size of tidal-waves soon began to splash against the bow of the ore-bulker.

After all the happenings, Troy's answer was moot at best...  
"_That_ signal, Dr. Andross."

"Ah, so _that's _what you secret-service chums were up to –clearly more than simply 'negotiating my release', am I correct?"

Carrion -being a far more skilled orator than the soldier- took to answering the ape himself.  
"Technically Mr. Andross, I _did_ negotiate your release, but not without a certain... _cost..._"

Carrion's point was clarified, a little, by the Cooney sister.  
"Lets just say those hijacking bastards got a little more than they _bargained for_..."

The way Rachelle phrased her response implied that there was more to that 'program' than her brother told the white wolf bandit. Knowing her affiliation with machines, she was probably the one behind that 'Trojan-Horse' device.

"You mean the _computing-virus_ you planted in that hard-drive."

Andross -much to the astonishment of Rachelle- was absolutely spot-on in his assessment. She turned back toward the rest of the group before replying.

"I never said anything about a _virus_. How did you figure that one out?"

The primate took answering Rachelle's question to as far an extent as he could muster, if only to fuel his own ego.  
"It's quite simple really: shipboard Graviton-Diffusion systems don't overload _themselves,_ you know. A virus in the computing-mainframe -written with the with the right overrides and targeting certain systems- _could_ trigger a catastrophic overload. Thus, without a functioning G-Diffuser to counteract the force of gravity, the vessel falls back to the planet's surface: _helpless. _Brilliant thinking, Miss. Cooney."

Rachelle decided to receive the Doctor's compliment with a kind of halfhearted interest, but also with a troubled concern beneath it. Whatever her response was, it was enough to prompt her brother to wheel around toward the others and step in.

"_Very _astute of you Dr. Andross, but as much as I'd _love_ to hear you further undermine LCI's discretion: were burning time here..."  
The raccoon then turned to Captain Lycaeon.  
"Troy, Whenever you and the Dagger-boys are ready..."

The painted canid stood quietly for a few moments, watching the helpless vessel in the ocean, before responding.  
"You Intel-_sneaks _always have such a bizarre, _sideways_ way of doing things... and the Zonessians _really _aren't going to like this~"

He was cut off by Senator Carrion.  
"As far as _I'm_ concerned, Captain, the Zonessians can take their _flaunted_ objections and shove them up their own tight-wad _asses_..."

Captain Lycaeon was a little surprised by the eagle's blunt statement. It was the kind of statement normally heard from military generals, not elected politicians.  
"Excuse me, Senator?"

The avian politician was well-prepared for the Dagger Captain's concerns, and addressed the soldier with a confident, practiced eloquence –the likes of which took many years-worth of Congress debates for Conrad Carrion to refine.

"My _friend,_ have you forgotten what those bandit sons-of-bitches did back in Sector-X? That was a _Cornerian_ prison ship, they've slaughtered _Cornerian_ pilots, crew and servicemen, so we have every right, a _responsibility_ in-fact, to clean-up _our_ mess. Those pirates out there have earned every single shot you'll give them, and they deserve no mercy... For Corneria, and her _people, _Captain: _sink_ that dammed ship, and leave _none_ alive... "

The canid spec-ops officer didn't need to hear another word.  
"For Corneria, Mr. Carrion. For Corneria..."

Captain Troy Lycaeon pulled-back the left sleeve of his heavy coat, and gave the order over his wrist-comm.  
"Listen-up, Dagger! The package is in the drink, and we have orders to clear it out and mop-up. Anyone left aboard is to be considered armed, hostile, and dangerous. Engage all on-sight, show no quarter, and take no prisoners. A we all understood?"

Dagger's comm channel echoed with the sharp, affirmative replies of its soldiers...  
"If we're all-clear... Dagger-unit: _Move out!_"

The operatives of Dagger needed no speeches, no pep-talks, no words of encouragement from their Captain. By the way Troy had addressed them, the commandos of Dagger must've been veteran soldiers of the _highest_ caliber. Since the mission's outcome could hinge on a _second's_ hesitation, it wasn't the place of an elite soldier to question his orders –it was his place only to carry them out...

And their orders, were _exactly _what Dagger-unit carried-out...

No sooner than had Captain Lycaeon deactivated his wrist-comm and lowered his arm, that the colossal cargo-hatches on the bulker's deck -like the very gates of Hell itself- split open. From the cavernous cargo-bays normally reserved for raw iron-ore: a hellfire in the form of dozens of assault-transport craft emerged.

The craft had a two-man tandem cockpit, a pair of winglets on either side fitted with weapons hardpoints, a troop-transport bay toward the rear, and a protected engine-assembly placed high at the rear. These assault-craft were not particularly fast, or particularly agile, but they didn't have to be. Their role was to transport infantry into the heat of battle, and to neutralize any surface-based threats on the way; to this end, each of the assault-transport craft bristled with a variety of lighter, anti-infantry and anti-vehicle weaponry. Each was painted in the gray-green top, and gray bottom traditional of Zonessian sea camouflage, but without identifying markings of any kind. If it wasn't for the battle-cry of their engines, the assault-craft would blend quite well with their surroundings.

Once the flock of military harbingers had assumed their positions, they all began their advance toward the ditched space-vessel with every intent to destroy it, and everyone left aboard. It wouldn't be so much a battle as it would be a _coup de grâce: _a mercy blow. To defend a sinking ship that was never meant for the ocean is an _impossible_ battle to win. Even if you should drive the attackers off, what then was your prize?...

Richard Cooney could only stand at the front of the bulker-ship, and watch as it all unfolded before him. The fog obscured most of the details of the ditched ship, but the red and blue flashes of blaster-fire still lit-up the mists. And although the sea fog stifled many of the sounds of combat, the screams of the casualties still made it all the way back to the bulker –muffling only made the distant cries of the dying sound that much more eerie...

The decision to deploy Dagger in this operation was determined by two main factors:  
Firstly: to ensure the elimination of all responsible for the hijacking and further use of the vessel. It was assumed that those who had survived Sector-X had also participated in the hijacking, and all who resisted were already dead.  
Secondly: to reassure the public, should it become necessary to reveal these events, that this was an act of Cornerian justice.

There were other reasons; some known, and some not, but it was always the unknown reasons that troubled LCI agent Richard Cooney the most...

If anyone else looked at the raccoon at this moment, they would've seen a cold, serious and determined man watching his handiwork. But a sibling always knew...

Rachelle Cooney laid a hand on her brother's shoulder, all-too aware of Rick's tendencies to speculate...  
"Something up, bro?"

Rick didn't turn to look at his sister, but replied as quietly and as discreetly as he knew how –lest any of the others overheard.  
"Not here, sis. Not now."

Rachelle got the idea, and simply joined her brother in silence –she would always find out later anyway.

* * *

Footnote*

The seal of LUC was a bright yellow circle on a navy-blue background, surrounded by a ring of nine bright points of light as a symbolic representation of the nine sovereign Worlds of Lylat: Corneria, Katina, Papetoon, Fichina, Fortuna, Aquas, Zoness, Macbeth and Titania.

The planet of Venom, by an unofficial consensus, was deemed a useless planet. The conditions were unbearably harsh, it had few -if any- resources worth the effort required to extract them, and its odd placement outside the rest of Lylat's orderly ring-orbit made even the simple act of getting there an inconvenience. Venom had no official inhabitants, no government, and thus no representation in Lylat Union Congress.

* * *

-present time-

+++Accessing Database: "Fightercraft Inventory"...+++

Peppy Hare stood alone in what was definitely a ground-based spacecraft hangar. It wasn't overly large, and since there were only half a dozen or so craft in the space, it didn't have to be. The vehicles ranged from a small interceptor, to a great beast of a weapons-platform, and everything in-between. The one uniting feature of each vehicle in the hanger was the logo the members of the new Star Fox team agreed upon earlier: a scarlet silhouette of a winged, unevolved fox, freshly painted onto the fuselage of each craft.

The hare held a digital clipboard in his hand. It wasn't exactly a hand-held computing device all to itself, but it maintained a direct wireless interface with the facility's mainframe. The clipboard format was simply for ease-of-use when someone wanted to keep the data on-hand –much like the way Peppy did when he browsed through the team's stock of fightercraft.

+++"Fightercraft Inventory": Open+++

Each craft had it's own file that could be accessed through the database, but Peppy didn't need to comb through the details yet –he simply needed to know what they had. The files' 'thumbnail' still contained a brief summary of each craft, which was perfectly fine for now.

The first image displayed on the 'clipboard' was that of a narrow-hulled interceptor with tightly swept-back wings, and an engine assembly that appeared to be built for a much larger craft; it matched perfectly to the fighter Peppy was now standing next to.

+++Craft Summary+++  
Name: Thumper.  
Role: Interceptor / Support.  
Default Armament: 2x laser cannons, 2x launch-tubes (½ size).  
Additional Equipment: hair-trigger sensor/targeting array.  
+++Details?...+++

The combination of a high-speed fightercraft with sensitive and precise targeting systems was a perfect setup for what was known as 'lurk and sweep'. It is a dogfighting tactic where one fighter stays out of the fray, but can swoop in at a second's notice to either assist an ally, or to exploit an opening in the hostiles –a maneuver best suited for very fast, but not necessarily agile craft.

The hare moved on the the next fighter: an unassuming, simple vehicle with a forward-mounted cockpit and an ordinary delta-wing design.

+++Craft Summary+++  
Name: Gizmo.  
Role: Specialized / Various.  
Default Armament: 2x laser cannons, 1x launch-tube.  
Additional Equipment (current): cloaking device, holographic projector (various templates).  
Note: further equipment options available, see details.  
+++Details?...+++

Gizmo looked simple enough from the outside, but its data file was telling Peppy Hare a completely different story. This plain, inconspicuous and cheap-looking fighter was a deceiver –a craft meant to lull the enemy into a false sense of security before it bit off more than it could handle.  
There was no telling what kind of shenanigans Gizmo could have up its sleeve.

This next craft was the largest: a hulking behemoth of a fighter with a short, wide fuselage, forward-swept wings, and a stubby cockpit jutting forward from the center of the main body. It was armed with a pair of enormous gatling blasters -one under each wing- and was also equipped with some sort of mass-driver cannon mounted on the dorsal structure of the craft.

+++Craft Summary+++  
Name: Nessie.  
Role: Gunship / Heavy-weapons.  
Default Armament: 2x heavy rotary-blasters (firing modes: full-auto, or simultaneous volley-shot), 1x magnetic railgun cannon (20 Gigawatt output).  
Additional Equipment: secondary fusion-reactor.  
+++Details?...+++

Nessie was definitely the muscle of the fighters here –20 Gigawatts was practically _cruiser-grade. S_ince when does anything less than a warship use _cruiser-grade_ weaponry? With the kind of power output that artillery-piece needed, it was no wonder Nessie needed an extra fusion reactor.

The next fighter in the database had a roughly tear-drop shaped hull, with a pair of swept-back wings mounted at the wider front end. The rear 'tip' of the hull and the ends of both wings were capped by an engine thruster. Fang was heavily armed with four blaster cannons -two mounted on each wing- and a launch tube in the center of the wider forward hull. The cockpit was situated just aft of the wing mounting and just ahead of the rear engine.

+++Craft Summary+++  
Name: Fang.  
Role: Superiority / Multi-role  
Default Armament: 4x heavy blaster-cannons, 1x launch-tube.  
Additional Equipment: independent thrust-vectoring for each thruster.  
+++Details?...+++

A dogfighter for sure. The complex thrust-vectoring could prove a bit of a challenge for many pilots, but if one could master its nuances, they'd have one mean sucker of a fightercraft on their hands...

When Peppy looked up from the clipboard / screen, he was surprised, and a little worried by Fang's distinct absence from the new Star Fox hangar facility. He took out his comm and called-up someone for a few answers...

"_Thank you for calling Star Fox military contractors & combat-charter services. This is Dengar speaking, how may I help you?..."_

The hare was a little surprised at the way Pigma answered his comm-call, but he figured it out...  
"Do you _have_ to use your personal comm for business calls?"

"_Oh, it's you..."_

Peppy began to exit out of the hangar...  
"Listen, we're missing a bird down here: Fang. You got any idea what happened to it?"

Pigma hesitated on the other end, and reluctantly answered the question –well, tried to _avoid_ answering it.  
"_Yeah... McCloud took the thing out solo to uh... do a test-flight –get a feel for it."_

"You mean Jimmy showed-up? I thought he was just sleeping-in again, and running-late."

"_...No, he got here early and checked-out with Fang lickety-split~"_

As far as Peppy was concerned, that kind of behavior wasn't normal for the James McCloud _he_ knew. Piggma knew more than he was telling, and the gray hare could tell –which provoked him to cut-off the swine and ask for a straight answer.  
"Where did he go?..."

Silence...

* * *

Pikke turned out to be a charming small town tucked-away in a scenic mountain valley, lined on either side by ridges of snow-capped peaks. Although it was technically springtime in this part of Corneria -and it _looked_ it- the last remnants of winter still pierced the air with a slight chill, prompting Vixy to wear an extra layer. The town of Pikke itself was simple enough: most everything noteworthy to the settlement was within easy access to its single main street. Of course, 'noteworthy' for a place like Pikke were simple amenities for most city-folk...

Vixy's communicator sounded it's alarm at 3:00 Pikke time. The vixen turned it off and was about to replace it in her pocket when she received a call-alert: Jame's number. She answered with a carefully measured vexation...

"_Where_ are you?... Yes James, I'm in Pikke like you said earlier. The problem is: _you_ aren't, and you never told me where I'm supposed to meet you here~"

What James said to her over the comm next perplexed her...  
"...Look up?..."

On Jame's instruction, she looked into the sky where she spotted a tiny shape streaking overhead, and diving lower –_fast_. As the dot closed-in, it eventually assumed the shape of the fox's new fighter: Fang. With the quickly approaching craft came the defiant roar of its thruster-trio. When the spacecraft came low over Pikke for the last time, it executed a perfect barrel-roll maneuver before banking sharply and slowing to a hover. At this slower taxiing speed, Fang touched gracefully down in the middle of the empty main-street –drawing quite a lot of attention in the process.

"Oh boy..."

Vixy should've known this would happen. Whenever you ask a combat-pilot out, you're almost _guaranteed_ to get the grandiose, showy, romantic gesture of him soaring out of the sky to meet you. She didn't know whether to be flattered, embarrassed or offended by the thought. The vixen eased her way to the front of the slowly accumulating crowd around the just-landed Fang as James opened the cockpit-canopy.

He wore a diverse collection of military-surplus items. The pants and shirt were a matching two-piece made of a durable forest green cloth. His undone jacket was of a particularly bright khaki and, like the rest of his current clothing, was made with a robust material meant to withstand the rigors of combat. He also wore a bright amber-yellow scarf of a lighter material to cut-down on neck chafing: a common problem among combat-pilots, and an equally common solution...

The fox stepped a heavy boot-encased foot out onto the fighter's hull, and extended a tipless-gloved hand as far to Vixy as he could manage without losing his balance...  
"Come with me, Vixy..."

The crowd's many pairs of eyes followed Jame's outstretched arm straight to Vixy Reinard, and they began to throw out a series of encouraging whoops and phrases for the flustered vixen. Within barely a few seconds, the clamor ascended into a rough chant:

"_Go With Him!... Go With Him!..._"

James McCloud just shrugged in response to the spontaneous gathering of townspeople, and further reinforced his earlier suggestion...  
"You won't regret it, trust me..."

The decision was essentially made already, but Vixy needed a few seconds to accept it...  
Ah, to hell with it...  
"Prove it, flyboy..."

With more than a little help from the crowd's motivational bolstering, the vixen took Jame's hand and allowed herself to be hoisted onto Fang,'s hull of next to the fox. The onlooking townsfolk went wild, but Vixy looked down on the fighter she was now standing on with more than a little concern...

"Can this thing even _hold_ two people?"

To answer her question, James McCloud pointed out the open cockpit canopy...  
"It'll be cozy, but it _will_ work, look..."

Indeed, he'd ratcheted the pilot's chair so far forward, that it left an empty space just large enough to hold a passenger behind it. Luckily, the previous owner of Fang had the foresight to install a seat cushion and restraining harness in case that feature was needed, like now for instance.

James assisted Vixy into the meager passenger seat before wedging into the pilot's position himself. The canopy closed, and Fang sprung back to life with a trio of wailing engines. The fighter lifted slowly off the ground of Pikke's main-street before reaching a reasonable altitude. Above the small Conerian town, the full force of Fang's triple thrusters fired, and launched James McCloud and Vixy Reinard across the sky, together.

* * *

I'd like to offer a very special thanks to the user Foxmerc: for allowing me to incorporate Dagger into my story. I hope my portrayal of this story-element of his is congruent with his vision, and I hope I've done it proper justice.


	10. Something Missing

_**Something Missing**_

James McCloud and Vixy Reinard were wedged as comfortably as they could manage in the cockpit of the fighter-craft Fang. They had hardly flown for a minute before the vixen had to ask something...

"I know you're a pilot and all, but did you _really _have to drop out of the sky and sweep me of my feet like that?"

"Absolutely."  
Simple questions need only simple answers.

"But I'm pretty sure our agreement before was just for a simple hike in the woods~"

This fighter cockpit was Jame's home-turf. _Besides,_ he needed to get back at Vixy for their incident when he was injured...

"And we are _still_ going to do that. Fang here was just the quickest, easiest and most efficient way to go about _it~!_"  
He pulled on the fighter's control column, which catapulted it into a much steeper climb than either he or Vixy anticipated~

"I thought you said you you were a _pilot!_"

The fox leveled Fang's sudden accent as gently as he could manage...  
"I _am,_ it's just that these controls are a bit sensitive. I only got registered for this fighter yesterday and haven't had much time to get used to her yet~"

Vixy leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the pilot's seat...  
"You mean to tell me you've never flown this thing before?"

"Let's not make it _sound_ worse than it actually is, okay?... Don't you worry, I'll learn the workings of this touchy little piece of machinery, just like I intend to get to know someone else..."

James looked over his shoulder to his passenger...  
"Right now, all I know about you, is that you work for the news-media, and you're _very _easy to offend. We've got a little time so, what's your story?"

"I do _not_ get offended that easily~"  
Vixy's indignant response only served to prove Jame's assumption about her.

"Case and point..."  
The pilot turned forward again...  
"Now tell me something I _don't_ know... seriously."

Vixy wasn't so much offended as she was _peeved _that James could manipulate her like that. She decided to play-along for now, and leaned forward to tell James 'something he didn't know'...

"Would you believe I still go to film-school?"

"_Really?_ I would never have guessed~"

"Here's my card..."  
She handed James a student ID...  
"...Part-time, at the Cornerian Conservatory for Cinematography and film-making, or _'3C'_ as it's better known as..."

The fox returned Vixy's card after a quick glance over it.  
"So, how does an ambitious _up-and-coming_ filmmaker like yourself get sucked into the news-media?"

She took her card back, and stuffed it into her wallet...  
"Film-school is _not_ cheap, and the broadcast studios are more than willing to pay a single _skilled_ worker to tag-along with a journalist instead of getting a whole field-crew. Though having a few key inside connections didn't hurt either... What? Did you think that was my idea of an _ideal_ career?"

"I just assumed~"

"You guys usually do."  
She averted her gaze out of the cockpit to watch the rough, mountainous Cornerian highlands pass below...

For a few seconds, the only sounds within the crowded cockpit were the steady purr of Fang's engines.  
It was a somewhat _awkward_ silence, but James had a way to break it...

"I bet I could top that."

Vixy was, of course, skeptical...  
"I'd like to see you try, flyboy..."

But that was _exactly_ the response James had in mind...  
"Would you believe that I run a _business?_"

"_You?_~"

Knowing James McCloud, he was the _last_ person anyone should rightfully expect to control any sort of business endeavor...

"Here's _my_ card..."

Yet despite all probability, the brash vulpine pilot reached into his jacket, produced a genuine business-card, and reached behind himself as best he could to offer it to Vixy.

She looked over the card with it's scarlet silhouette logo and contact information...  
"Star Fox huh? Let me guess... _Mercenaries?_"

"The guys and I prefer to think of ourselves as _contractors_ –for lack of a better word."

Vixy found a pocket where she could stash the Star Fox business card...  
"That still essentially makes you a gun-for-hire..."

James turned to face his passenger, and to better respond to her directly.  
"That's not going to be a _problem,_ is it?"

Vixy leaned forward, and reused Jame's own words to her advantage once more...  
"How about you tell me something _I_ don't know..."

* * *

The Cooneys' condominium was a modest , but it still had all the comforts one would normally expect in a home: a reasonable kitchen at one end, living room at the other and a dining space in-between...

The Cooneys never saw themselves as full-blown parents. They were so young when they stumbled upon the little vulpine boy -and James was already so old at the time- that Rick and Rachelle could barely consider themselves 'mother' and 'father' figures. Big-brother and big-sister perhaps, but never _parents..._

Rick himself was in the condo's living-room, looking over a series of images on a digital picture-frame that cycled through a sideshow loop...

Here was a picture taken after James' first _official_ spaceflight; according the instructor, he passed his flight-test with 'skeptically high marks'. Then there was Rick teaching teenager James a few techniques of hand-to-hand combat, and it just _had _to be a cheesy action-shot. This next photo was the most recent: Jame's graduating class from Katina's renowned Fort Bierce Military Academy. The kid never looked quite right in uniform...

"So what are you going to tell 'em, bro?..."  
There were other pictures, but Rachelle's voice swung-in from a nearby room...  
"You have a hunch? Your secret-agent senses are tingling?"

When the raccoon walked, it was with an awkward gait -assisted only by a familiar cane- that could only be the result of not having half of one's left leg. Rick was already outside the room his sister was in, so his mobility troubles were short-lived...

It was a workroom.  
Rachelle sat hunched over a clean workbench as she tightened one last screw on her project...  
"Pete's gonna want a little more than gut-feelings to investigate a conspiracy."

When she was finished, the Cooney sister swiveled around in her chair and set Rick's metal false-leg on the ground for him –what she was working on.

The raccoon pulled up his left trouser leg -which revealed a steel rod protruding from the stump of his severed leg below the knee- and fitted his prosthetic onto the rod...  
"Rache, it's my _job _to put facts and 'gut-feelings' together and see if they stick... Someone is hiding something, and it's got to be on that prison-ship… "

He fastened his leg and reactivated it.

"…How else do you think we got that tip-off about the location so easily?"

Once Rick's leg was fastened and activated, his sister offered an answer.  
"The pirates contacted _us, _they wanted to get that hot-potato, Andross off their hands~"

"They wanted to 'negotiate' with a Union Congress Senator, someone high-up. Then the Cornerians took this as an opportunity for payback, and got their very own Conrad Carrion in on the plans –heck, they even got _Dagger-unit_ to go along with it. It's all too convenient..."

Rachelle replaced her high-precision hand tools into their proper kits when she replied.  
"You can't really blame them, bro. After the Cornerians were caught with their pants down from the hijacking, they'd take a chance to cover their ass like this without a second's hesitation~"

With little notice, Rick opened a hidden compartment in the side of his metal leg from which the raccoon drew his favored shock-knife –cutting his sister's sentence off with a slash into empty air.

"~_or_ a second's worth of thought. Don't you see, sis? This whole mess _reeks_ of something else going on, and the answers -whatever they may be- have to be on that ship."

"But Dagger didn't come across anything unusual during their mission."

Rick replaced the shock-knife in its new concealed holster in his prosthetic leg.

"Dagger operatives may be some of the finest soldiers in Lylat, but they're still just soldiers. 'Unusual' for them means a direct, hostile _threat._ We can't expect them to go through the crucial details with a fine-tooth-comb, it's not their job."

Rachelle followed her brother's line of thought, and decided to take another approach...  
"Alright bro. Let's say LCI gives us the go-ahead to investigate the wreck: what exactly do you expect to find?"

Rick had a little difficulty answering this question, and stalled for time by replacing his shock-knife in its new concealed compartment in his prosthetic.

"...Something... anything _hell_ I don't know! Even if we find _nothing,_ then I could at least rest-easy knowing it _was_ just hijackers and politics. But I _have_ to be sure, I _have _to know what it was Scott's unit died for –what kind of danger I put Jim in..."

And there it was, plain as day: guilt over the death of close colleagues, protectiveness for James, and a desperate need to know the answers behind it all. There was no way Richard Cooney was going to back down now, and no way he would ever let it go...

"Slow down, bro. You of all people know that I feel the same way about Jamie, but this whole keeping dirty little secrets is what we do for a living, and that whole flying and fighting is what _he_ always wanted to do for a living. You can't keep watching his back, and he can _more_ than take care of himself now..."

"I know sis, I know... I just... I got rambling again, didn't I?"

Rachelle laid a hand on her brother's shoulder. Siblings especially, are easily able to piece-together each others psyche. By pushing her brother's buttons, Rachelle had quietly drawn-out the answers she was looking for, and couldn't find fault in his reasoning.

"But maybe you've rambled yourself right into something big this time. Jamie and Scott's unit aside, if someone _is_ trying to dupe Intelligence, then we ought to know who's yanking the chain."

* * *

Some greater distance from the city, the fightercraft Fang had touched-down in a clearing amidst the dense, robust evergreen forest of the mountains. James McCloud and Vixy Reinard walked side by side along a rough trail through the woods, while the fox finished telling his story.

"...So based out of the little facility we're leasing from Corneria City Spaceport, the guys and I provide our services to anyone willing to hire, but I hear it's a pretty competitive market."

"I had no idea, James."

"To be honest, I didn't know much about it either until recently. I was trained how to fight and how to fly, not how to manage a business..."

They continued their hike past row after row of towering redwood pines –James treading with a much heavier step... It was only a matter of time before Vixy couldn't contain her curiosity...

"I _know_ I'm going to regret asking this James, but... What's with the boots?"

James gave a quick glance down to his heavy footwear...  
"These things?"

"I can't imagine why, but you combat-ready mercenary types, especially the pilots, tend to wear some of the largest and heaviest footwear I've ever seen..."  
She stopped, and further emphasized her point...  
"I mean, look at _yours:_ you could practically drop a _tank_ on your toes without so much as a scratch.."

James rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled one of his encased feet, thinking of the best way to go about this...  
"Thats... kind-of the point –they're called _'Tanker Boots' _for a reason..."

His choice of footwear was an odd conversation topic for the vulpine pilot, but James did his best to explain himself as they began walking along the forest trail again...

"When you've got your feet jammed-up inside the cockpit, you don't want bootlaces getting tangled in the gear, but you also need protection from crushing hazards and chemical leaks when working around the heavy equipment, or when the vehicle gets damaged. So you're essentially taking your basic pair of Combat Boots, then making them safe to wear around sensitive and heavy machinery – pilots and vehicle crews wear boots like these all the time..."

Vixy took James by the arm...  
"Okay, so maybe I don't know all the details of combat aviation, but why wear those indestructible Tanker Boots _now_?"

His answer was half-joking...  
"They also happen to be _very_ comfy."  
...but only _half-_joking.

During their conversation, James and Vixy had made their way though the woods and to the edge of a rocky ridge overlooking the picturesque landscape of the Cornerian mountains. The late afternoon sun gave a slight amber tint to everything its light hit, and cast vivid shadows on everything it didn't...

"It's _beautiful..._"  
Vixy tightened her grip on Jame's arm...  
"...if only I had a camera on me~"

"My thoughts exactly..."  
The fox released himself from her grasp, then produced a small digital camera from one of his pockets and prepared to take a photo of the scene.

Vixy folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow, intrigued at Jame's complete confidence in an area where he had little skill... at least compared to herself.  
"Are you sure you know how to work that thing?"

"Yeah, course I know..."  
The fox didn't put much effort in composing his photography: how much simpler can you get with a camera?...  
"Push the button, and it takes a picture."

He took the picture...

"Can I take a look at it, James?"  
She extended her hand, indicating the camera James held.

"Sure..."  
He handed the camera to Vixy, who in turn examined the picture he took. She couldn't help but let out a smug little giggle at the image...

"Whats wrong with my pic?"

"Oh, nothing –it's just, very _amateur._"  
The gleam in her eye as she said that, was unmistakable...

Wielding the camera like a weapon,the vixen brought her eye to the viewfinder and meticulously adjusted the frame, focus and zoom to compose a perfect, _professional_ shot of the edge of a cliff in the Cornerian mountains...

"This ridge makes an _excellent_ leading-line to a vanishing-point... apply the rule of thirds, compose on mass... frame the border... adjust depth-of-field to blur the foreground... decrease exposure for lighting..."

_Okay._ Despite all that fancy photo-jargon going _way_ over his head, James was both impressed and fascinated by this display. Vixy held that camera the same way a sniper holds the rifle before the perfect head-shot: rock steady, and focused solely on the target. For all her scruples about being specifically a 'field producer', the fox could tell that _Vixiene Reinard of the Lylat Tribune_ was at heart: a _camera operator,_ just as he first thought...

She took the picture...

Time will always march unyieldingly ever forward; but if you choose, you can capture a moment of the present and bring it with you into the future. When that single moment in time is frozen into a still image, that moment can remembered in detail, and could potentially reveal a hidden significance from that instant in the past...

"Now let's compare our shots..."  
They stood closer together, so they could both view the two images captured on Jame's digital camera.

"See how your picture has the tree merged with the top of the frame, rather than using it as framing? Your horizon-line could've been a few degrees lower, and you have to remember not to overexpose when shooting toward the sun~"

James found his left arm wrapped around vixen's waist, but both were aware of it, and neither objected to it...  
"I'm sorry, but you lost me somewhere after 'framing'. I'm just a pilot, not a photographer."

Similarly, Vixy draped her right arm across Jame's lower back, even brushing her hand against his tail on the way over...

"I guess I can't blame you for not understanding this stuff, flying and fighting is what you do. Likewise, I may not know much about _your_ work, but _this..._"  
The vixen pressed a button on the camera that cycled the image displayed, and offered it back to James.  
"...is what I do."

The fox took the camera, and his eyes nearly sprang from their sockets when James saw the photo Vixy took...  
"Oh wow..."

It was as if the majestic landscape before them was condensed into the few square inches of the camera's display, but with the prominent points accentuated, and dull points subdued. It was in short: a breathtaking representation of the Cornerian landscape, but anyone untrained in photographic composition wouldn't be able to tell you why...

"...this looks... _amazing._ You've got some _serious_ talent here~"

"Thanks James, but it's just basic camera-work. If I looked hard enough, I'd probably find all sorts of little nitpicky flaws in it..."  
She gesticulated in a generally forward direction over the landscape...

James McCloud took another long look at the image on the camera's display, and replaced the device in his pocket...

"I think you're right..."  
He gently took Vixy's free hand in his own, and their gazes locked again...  
"There _is_ something missing from the picture that would've made it _perfect..._"

...This time, they didn't have to search beneath each other for hidden meanings, because it was written not just in their eyes, but also in every single feature that comprised the other...

Vixy inched a little closer to him, and spoke with a gentle, tender inflection in her voice...  
"And what could that be?..."

...It was written in the warm comfort of each other's embrace, in the calm timbre of their voices, in the both unmistakable and unfathomable ecstasy shared between them...

James leaned closer still, and nearly whispered the answer in her ear...  
"...Us."

...'It' was nothing less than _Love._

The two were so close, they barely had to turn their heads –their whiskers delicately brushed each other's noses, and the ends of their muzzles connected in a gentle, but no less affectionate kiss...

James was right...  
The blossoming intimate relationship of this vulpine couple played _astonishingly_ well against the picturesque backdrop of a Cornerian mountain sunset –against the flaming sun-saturated sky, the saw-toothed mountain ridges in the distance, and the clear river meandering through the lush evergreen valley below...

...The picture, just as he suggested, was _perfect_...

James McCloud and Vixy Reinard separated their lips and opened their eyes; both seemed more relaxed, more refreshed, and newly invigorated...

"That wasn't so bad..."  
Although only James said it, the pleasantly surprised, but satisfied look Vixy gave as a response implied that she felt the same way...

The two exchanged one last eager glance and a smile between them, then took the plunge...

Vixy tossed her left arm over his shoulder, James planted his right hand on her back, and each pulled the other close into themselves. The rapid sequence of events culminated when they fiercely locked their lips in an intense, passion-infused kiss...

That first display of affection between them was merely the spark that ignited a fuse, or a trigger that released the floodgates. Whatever inhibitions held them back before, were now nothing more than broken chains against the full force of the mutual passion they held for each other...

* * *

The CHC official seal took-up nearly a third of the page, and another third was decorated with even more government headers and qualifiers before it reached the actual substance of the document...

_{In light of overwhelming and irrefutable evidence contrary to a previous ruling, this court finds that Dr. Enos Andross has been convicted unjustly, and is deserving of an official judicial pardon.}  
{To be enacted immediately.}  
{Signed: Chief Justice of the Cornerian High Court, Hadean Korkae.}_

It is amazing how quickly government officials _can_ act when under pressure, especially when compared to how slowly they _do _act when left to their own devices...

Dr. Andross looked up from the document to a familiar setting...

The campus of the Corneria City University had not changed in the slightest. It's lawns were still watered and well-groomed, the buildings were still kept in excellent condition despite their age, and the students were still eager to learn. In fact, the only thing that _has_ changed since Dr. Andross here last, was the addition of a bronze memorial statue on the grounds...

The statue itself was of a wise, elderly camel dressed in scholarly robes, holding a scroll close in one hand, with his eyes looking to the sky –to a future of infinite possibilities...

The ape noticed some words engraved into the statue's pedestal base:

_["An education is not a duty; it is a precious gift."]  
[Teacher, Mentor, Inspiration: Dr. Mashad Al'Sayif.]_

Enos Andross considered these words briefly, then returned his gaze to the rest of the memorial statue...  
"What would _you_ have done, Mashad~?"

"Enos!.."

Antonio Oikonny walked briskly along one of the campus's walkways toward Andross, dressed in a cheap blazer and inexpensive shirt...  
"I came as quickly as I~"

"Where is my wife? my child? _Why_ are they not here with you like I asked?"  
Dr. Andross stared intently into the other's eyes, waiting for an answer...

"Please, give her some _time,_ Enos. My sister spent the last fifteen years _convinced_ that you were a traitor, and your daughter is scarcely aware of your existence~"

Andross stepped closer...  
"I have spent that _same_ length of time in complete isolation from _everyone!_ A decade and a half is _far_ more than enough time to give them. Now I'd very much like to see my family. Is that too much to ask?..."

Antonio bit his lip and fidgeted as he tried to find the gentlest way to tell Dr. Andross...  
"After your conviction, the marriage between you and my sister was _forfeit~_"

Andross impatiently handed his pardon notice to Antonio Oikonny...  
"In case you have been living under a _rock,_ that false conviction was _overturned _today..."

The silver-haired monkey didn't take the document...

"That's beside the point..."  
He took a deep, nervous breath before divulging into details.  
"Legally, a marriage can only be restored if _both_ of the former spouses agree to it..."

Andross let his eyes wander into the distance, and considered what to him, was an impossibility...  
"You don't mean~?"

Where Enos held a glassy gaze at nothing in particular, Oikonny's eyes jumped about, trying to look at _anything_ other than the transfixed ape in front of him.  
"I'm sorry, but Trishta doesn't _want_ to be married again; not to you, not to anyone else. It simply brought her too much heartache..."

For the ape, there was only one option:  
"let me speak with her..."

"But Enos, it won't do you _any_ good to~"

Dr. Andross whipped around, seized the monkey by his jacket lapels, and shoved him against Al'Sayif's memorial statue.  
"_Dammit _Oikonny! Let me _speak_ with her, _now!_"

* * *

_+++Incoming call (Antonio Oikonny). Accept?+++_

_+++[Enter]+++_

"_Is that you, dearest? It's me, Enos..."_

-To be Continued-


	11. First and Above All Else

_**First and Above All Else**_

On the planet of Katina, there are places where Solar could cast heat and light harsh enough to bake the landscape bare of all but the toughest vegetation. For miles in every direction, there was only dust, dry earth, and a hint of craggy mountains in the far distance. Against this flat nothing stood the single, monumental pyramid structure of Katina's Fort Bierce Academy...

On an outer terrace near the top of this colossal building, furnished with little more than a bare table and a set of folding chairs, a well acquainted pair conversed intently with each other.

"What do you mean 'we can't risk it'? This is an _Intelligence_ agency, we're supposed to take these sort of risks to learn all we can. How can you stand there and tell me the answers aren't worth the trouble to find them?..."

In this dry heat, Rick Cooney dispensed with the jacket and tie of his typical secret-service attire, and made do with just the plain white shirt –rolling the sleeves up and unbuttoning the collar to provide a little more thermal relief.

The agent turned toward an older muddy-furred rabbit at the edge of the terrace, and waited for an answer...

Colonel Peter Cotton wore his customary Cornerian senior-officer's uniform, but kept the jacket undone as he usually did during informal occasions. He leaned onto and gripped the terrace railing with both hands, his head sagging and his eyes drooping from fatigue...

Pete took a hesitant breath, turned to face Rick, and closed in on him as he began his explanation...  
"Listen here Ricky, between the hijacking, the trigger-happy Cornerians, and the complete 180 reversal of the Andross case... Union Congress, and the rest of the system for that matter, has Intelligence up to _here..._"  
Now face-to-face with Rick, the older rabbit gestured with his hand to indicate his neck...  
"...in nothing but _shit,_ and it's my ass on the line..."

Pete found the plain metal table and chairs set on the terrace, and gestured for Rick to take a seat. Once they both seated the rabbit elaborated on the 'shit' he was up to his neck in...

"The Congress is in utter _shambles._ Cornerians want one thing, Zonessians another, Macbethians, Titanians, and Katinans: this, that, and the other. Everyone wants to blame someone else; some of them point fingers, some _give_ the finger... heck, it nearly came down to fisticuffs between Carrion of Corneria and Grajo of Zoness –I ain't seen such swearing at a drunken bar-fight..."

Pete stopped himself, and gave his forehead a weary, full-handed rub.  
"Do yourself a favor Ricky, and don't _ever_ get into politics. It's difficult enough trying to coordinate a discreet, cross-system covert agency across the high echelons, but having a bunch of bickering blowhards breathing down your neck, wanting to watch everything you do, is just _stifling_..."

He got his act together, and got back on his train of thought...  
"Now you tell me Ricky, while most all of Lylat is ready to bust a blood vessel from freaking-out, tell me exactly _why_ sniffing around this wasp's nest is the best course of action..."  
Pete set his elbows on the table, laced his hands together, and waited for Rick to respond...

The raccoon removed his dark glasses, and began to wipe the lenses with his shirt-cloth.  
"I have reason enough to believe there is something deeper going on and~"

The elder rabbit expected this exact response –and rolled his eyes as he interrupted Rick mid-sentence.  
"Well _sorry_ to bust your bubble Ricky, but everyone and their _mother_ thinks there's 'something going on'. This whole fiasco is the political squabble-fodder of choice right now, and nobody can seem to shut their damned blow-horns over it for a second! You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to convince me to _do _something about it..."  
Pete leaned back in his chair, daring the raccoon to try again.

Rick folded his dark glasses, and coolly placed them into his shirt pocket before responding with a comparably cool confidence.  
"And that, Pete, is _exactly _why we need to look into it..."  
He got up, and began to circle the table...  
"You know the old adage: _'Where there's smoke, there's fire.'_?"

The old Rabbit craned his neck back when Rick passed behind him  
"What's your point?"

"As you say, everyone sees this mess -this 'smoke'- and automatically assumes there must be a 'fire' to go with it. But the political noisemakers are too distracted by the big, attention grabbing 'smoke' to see past it for what it may actually be. There is definitely some thick and dirty 'smoke' out there, but I think the 'fire' might just be in their minds..."  
He stopped, and leaned on the table across from Pete to emphasize his point.  
"This entire mess could be nothing but a _smokescreen_ to hide other actions..."

Rick resumed his steady orbit of the table.  
"Take the Andross case: it was overturned in a single day where Congress would've dragged it through the debate floor for at least a week... if they weren't so preoccupied."

The raccoon held his motion and looked over the baked Katina landscape for a moment...  
"As arduous and tedious as these policy debates are, they provide the kind of true accountability that ambitious system-wide projects need. If the hot-button Andross case can make it through in one day behind this smokescreen, just _think_ of how much more could be slipping by unnoticed."

"So is _this_ what it's all about, huh?"  
Pete asked the sensible question...  
"You still think Dr. Andross is guilty?"

"No, I'm not worried about the Andross case itself, I'm much more concerned about the timing of it all..."  
Rick then proceeded to elaborate on his point...

"The appeal gets through just as the Doctor is en route to Titania, and that's when the hijacking happens. We get in contact with the pirates barely a day afterward, and they're desperate to get rid of Dr. Andross, because they know he's too hot for them to handle. The Cornerians swoop in like the big heroes they are, the pirates are neutralized, an innocent man is set free, and justice is served for all..."

After a brief pause for effect, Richard Cooney leaned in on the table...  
"You cannot possibly think that's all just a remarkable set of coincidences."

The wizened 'Colonel' gave an exasperated sigh and gave his ear a scratch...  
"You really want to do this, don't ya Ricky?"

The raccoon took his seat across from Pete once again...  
"My mind was made-up before I got here. I just wanted to run it by you."

The elder rabbit reached into his open jacket, removed his communicator...  
"I see, in that case..."  
...and pressed a single button.  
"I'd like you to to meet someone..."

Before Rick had a chance to ask who, a third voice behind him answered...  
"Basil Pepper at your service, Colonel."

Cooney Shot out of his seat and whipped around -more from reflex than surprise- to face this new figure.

The newcomer was a yellow-brown bloodhound somewhere in his mid to late twenties, and a textbook soldier by the looks of him. The hound stood at perfect attention dressed in the traditional Katinan Cadet's uniform –however, the rank-slide insignia attached to the shirt's shoulder strap designated his affiliation with the Cornerian Army...

Pete got out of his chair and began to walk past the raccoon agent, who was still examining the newly arrived Basil Pepper.  
"For his honorable service in the Cornerian Army, courageous display of valor in the line of duty, and on my personal recommendation no less, Pepper here's been promoted to the rank of Captain~"

Rick tore his inspecting glare from the hound and replanted it on Pete...  
"Are you going somewhere with this?"

The elder rabbit came alongside Pepper, and placed a hand on the rigid hound's shoulder before answering Rick's question.  
"_Pfft._ Oh come on Ricky, you of all people know how I go about recruiting. I picked Pepper to be trained as LCI's newest Sleeper Agent..."

"Is this true, Pepper?"  
Rick could probably trust Colonel Peter Rabbit better than most anyone, but he still needed to hear Pepper say it himself...

The hound returned Cooney's inquisitive glare with the rock-steady gaze expected of any military officer.  
"I serve Lylat first and above all else, Mr. Cooney..."

That was LCI's genuine motto, and spoken like a true soldier. Pepper continued...  
"Cornerian Army regulations require me to take a few of their Command courses here on Katina before I can officially assume my new rank as Captain, but there is a twist in my case..."

Pete elaborated on this twist Pepper was referring to...  
"Along with his usual Army requirements, Pepper will also covertly undergo the same Intelligence / Counterintelligence training regime I put you through. He's one of us now, and I expect he will be for a while..."  
The rabbit noticed Pepper, still standing stiff as a board...  
"_Goodness,_ at-ease... and don't you have a class to get to? Para-something or other?..."

Pepper relaxed -a little bit- and supplied the name of the class that escaped the older rabbit.  
"Paramilitary Methodology and Implementation, sir..."

"Yeah, that one..."  
He gave Pepper a quick slap on the back...  
"...better get moving, son."

Rick watched the hound exit just as quickly and quietly as he entered...  
"What does this new agent have to do with my proposal to launch an investigation?"

"Pepper _is _the investigation. Like you and everyone else Ricky, I suspect something dirty's floating about too. I just think it's better to invite ourselves through the front-door rather than sneak around the back –the way you'd want to do it..."

The rabbit returned to the chair he was in before continuing...  
"To that end, we'll need a reliable set of eyes, ears and possibly hands in the Cornerian Army, and no one will suspect an unwaveringly loyal officer like Pepper to do anything underhanded. "

After running the possibilities though his head, Rick hastily retook his seat and tweaked his earlier proposition...  
"Pete, we could go at this from both fronts. You take the high-road with your Sleeper operation in the Army and I'll take the low-road, watching the movement on the outside. If there _is_ a connection, we're bound to meet in the middle somewhere."

The rabbit fiddled with something on his uniform...  
"I take it you've got some sort of plan?..."

The raccoon gave a quick nod, and continued to race through his line of thought...  
"Like any investigator, I'd like to start with the scene of the crime: the wreck of that prison ship. If there is even the smallest tangible clue or the slightest shred of connection in there, than the ability to further investigate this incident will be worth any publicity risk."

"But you'll have to find a way to do it _quietly_ –I simply can't have all the senators of congress beating down my door demanding to know whats going on..."

Rick was already two steps ahead along this line...  
"Rachelle is already in Port Seyid on Zoness, waiting for the green light to begin setup. We've got the contacts and connections to work effectively undercover, all we need are the monetary resources from LCI to pull it off..."

Pete gave his chin a quick, thoughtful scratch and offered one final warning...  
"You two got lucky when Dagger let you in on their little field-trip, but going out there under the noses of Congress, and into _this_ environment, is a whole other can of worms..."

Rick leaned his elbows on the bare table and drilled his eyes through Pete's own...  
"Rache and I are ready and willing to take the our chances here, what about you Pete?"

The older rabbit leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table as he mulled it over –then stopped when he finally made his decision...  
"LCI requisitions will soon have an 'accounting error' in the credit reserve. When this happens, I suggest you assist in 'correcting' this error as quickly as possible."

Richard Cooney stood up from his seat, removed the dark wire-framed glasses from his shirt pocket, and replaced them over his eyes...  
"Consider it done."

* * *

Fang sliced through the atmosphere, pulverizing otherwise harmless inert gases into a white-hot blaze outside the craft. At it's blinding speed of many kilometers per second, the fighter's impact shields completely decimated any air molecules it collided with, and produced nearly pure thermal energy from the friction. Such were the glorious fires of atmospheric reentry common to every spacecraft...

It never gets old...

With his hands firmly on the controls, James Mcloud checked the altimeter, speedometer and other instruments to ensure a smooth, controlled decent. At the right moment, the vulpine pilot activated Fang's G-Diffuser systems and feathered the thruster trio into reverse. The fighter responded with a slight jolt as forces from the engines were introduced, and the opposing force of gravity negated to reign-in the craft to a reasonable atmospheric velocity...

The inferno outside the cockpit canopy died away, and revealed the darkened, night sky of the planet Corneria. Yet despite the darkness outside, lights from Corneria City below presented a spectacular light-show that could only be properly appreciated from above.

James guided the fighter through the city's airspace toward the main spaceport at the outskirts, and didn't bother to get clearance from Port Control. Fang, along with the rest of Star Fox's craft, came with automated clearance to the facility they're based out of –one of the many perks of being your own boss...

He passed over the rows of enormous dry-docks and berthing wharfs used by the largest vessels, over the terminal buildings and gates for the smaller, faster commercial spacecraft, and away from the main port structure toward an inconspicuous little building on the edge of the spaceport grounds. It wasn't much more than a modest hangar and maintenance workshop attached to a meager single-story office building, similar to most independent charter operations based out of this spaceport...

James found the remote door-control bolted onto the cockpit, and when in range, used it to open the hangar doors as he maneuvered Fang into it's home. He lowered the landing carriage and set Fang down in the empty spot where he took-off from, opened the cockpit-canopy, and powered-down...

"I could really get used to this mercenary thing..."  
Mostly to himself as he undid his harness...

The vulpine pilot vaulted out of Fang's cockpit and landed solidly on the polished concrete hangar floor in a crouch. He couldn't resist giving that little trick a try~

"Ah, _there_ ye be, lad. We wus almost a wee bit worried aboot ye..."

James hastily spun around to find Scott walking across the hangar bay door toward him. The terrier sported a curious set of pipes on his person. Under one arm was a leather airbag, with a small set of bellows under the other. Strapped across Scott's chest, the drone and regulator pipes were arranged together in a neat bundle, and he held the chanter in one hand. All of it was hooked together by a complex system of air-hoses.

Since he didn't expect to find anyone here this late, James had every right to ask...  
"What are you doing here?"

Scott stopped near the entrance of the hangar where an empty cloth sack lay on the floor...  
"Just givn' the pipes a blow..."  
The terrier compressed the airbag with his elbow, which produced a wheezy chord from the drone and regulator pipes...  
"Ye get a fine acoustical resonance in here, ken?..."

When all the air was out of the bag, Scott began to disassemble his pipes and place the components into the sack...

James was just on his way to exit, removing his tipless flight-gloves and stuffing them into a pocket~

"_So..._ how'd ye like her?"  
~when he got a question from Scott.

The fox glanced back toward Fang, and offered an answer...  
"She's a little touchy, but I think we're gonna get along just fine."

Scott placed the last piece of his pipes into the sack, the chanter, and cinched the mouth of the bag shut. "Aye, that about covers how ye feel about the bonny las o' yers, so what about Fang?"

His response caught James by surprise –reflexively standing-up his russet fur and pricking his ears as he was stopped in his tracks...  
"Uh, what?"

The terrier guffawed at the abashed young fox, and hoisted his loaded sack over his shoulder...  
"Dont give me that, laddy. Ye're so hocked-up on McCloud Nine, ye could launch yerself intae orbit on it. So what _really_ happened out there?"

The two passed through the hangar entrance and into an ordinary hallway. James glanced sheepishly about, and tried to change the subject away from his personal life...  
"I don't think this is the best time to get into that –you only just lost your team a few days ago~"

Scott quickly turned around and snapped at James, cutting him off mid-sentence...  
"What? Ye expect me tae spend the rest o' me days _grievin',_ do ye? Granted, I've stepped intae a mighty lot o' keech in me time, an' I probably deserve a wee nip or two. An' ye ken what? I don' care. I'm gettin' back on me feet, I'm goin'ae keep movin', an' I in't goin'tae git stuck in the whirlypits, ye ken?"

They began moving through the building again...  
"Look Scott, I'm not trying to offend you, it's just..."

The charcoal-furred terrier simply waved Jame's condolences away.  
"Ah, come off it m'boy. If ye'd offended me, I would'nae given ye a chance tae apologize fer it. Besides, ye need tae quit changin' the subject..."

They stopped when they came to a door at the end of the short hallway.

Jame's fur stood up again –all this talk around his relationships was beginning to get on his nerves...  
"It's _my_ personal life, and I'll talk about it when I want to."

Scott responded with quick chuckle, and a few words of warning laced with mocking cynicism...  
"Alight then, I'll nae ask anymore about the lass, but ye'd best no' let her become a problem, and try not tae let the ragin' hormones clout ye in the arse on the way out..."

The terrier swung the door open and entered a typical office break room. One wall of the was lined with a small piece of kitchen, complete with refrigerator, countertop, microwave oven and many basic amenities one would expect in such a place. In the middle of the room was a simple table and chairs setup, where Scott set down his sack.

James followed close behind, and promptly shot his mouth off...  
"I don't need life lessons from a drunken has-been~"

Scott whipped around unnervingly close to James and jabbed a forefinger into his chest.  
"An' I don' need back-talk from a pheromone-scuppered _twanger_..."

The younger fox and older terrier exchanged a subtle, silent glare between them –each daring the other to rebut their remarks...

Their friction probably would've escalated further if not for a third voice...  
"He may be a belligerent, nosy drunk, but Scott's lived a hell of a lot more life than you, Jim –and in more ways than one..."  
The voice of Richard Cooney...

Sure enough, when James and Scott peeled their eyes off each other and looked for the source, they found the raccoon standing just inside the open door with a rolled-up newspaper under one arm. He was dressed in his typical dark suit, but the jacket was unbuttoned, and an undone tie hung from his shirt collar...

Rick stepped away from the door toward the two onlookers...  
"On the other hand: we were all young and stupid once, and Jim has every right to enjoy it while he still can."

"Crivens, Rich. Would it _kill_ ye tae call ahead before droppin' out o' the blue like tha'?"  
The terrier broke away from James, and crossed the room toward the fridge...

Rick stopped alongside James, and answered Scott's question...  
"Depending on the circumstances, I just might've been killed if I did..."

Scott scoffed a bitter reply over his shoulder...  
"Spare me th' gallows humor, ye canny sleekit..."  
He opened the refrigerator and began to rummage through it to the sound of clinking liquor bottles...

James lowered his voice, and asked a question...  
"Do you have any idea what's gotten into Scott?"

Rick offered a shrug and a head-shake with his response...  
"Honestly, I gave-up trying to psychoanalyze him years ago, but my guess would be some sort of denial..."  
He took a seat at the breakroom table...  
"Basically, Scott over there would like to think he's tough enough to weather this shit-storm his life is turning out to be..."

The terrier slipped a hip flask out of his back pocket, opened it, and refilled the thin stainless-steel container with a dark amber whiskey pulled from the refrigerator...

James joined the raccoon at the table...  
"Yeah, I figured as much –do you think he can handle it?..."

Scott returned to the table under the combined, concerned stares of Rick and James...  
"What're youz keekin' at?..."  
He picked up his sack of pipes from the table, slung it over his shoulder, and trudged out of the room –leaving Rick and James to themselves.

The raccoon answered Jame's question only when Scott was well out of earshot...  
"I'd be worried if it were anyone else, but Scott is one stubborn nut. Only time will tell if he can pull himself through this..."  
He pulled the loose tie out of his shirt collar...  
"He'll feel better after a drink at least..."

James got up from his seat and made for the half-kitchen along the breakroom wall...  
"So what brings you here Rick, and at this hour?"

Rick found a pocket, and stashed his tie into it...  
"Business, I'm sorry to say..."

"We can talk about that over coffee if you want, Peppy likes to keep a pot ready to go..."  
He found the pressure-brewer on the counter and activated it, forcing the steaming dark liquid into a glass coffee pot below...

The raccoon allowed himself an amused smirk...  
"You should've gotten a girlfriend _years_ ago, Jim..."

"Hows that?"  
James opened a nearby cupboard and searched a hand through it...

"You were put through four years worth of the toughest military training Lylat has to offer, and you still came out the same undaunted, cocky daredevil you were before you went in there –I'd wager you came out _more_ so. But it only takes a few days and one date with this Reinard girl, and you're already offering~"

James turned and cut-off Rick...  
"Do you want the coffee or not?..."  
He held an empty mug in each hand, and a undeniable expression of annoyance on his face...

James McCcloud and Richard Cooney exchanged an awkward, stony silence between them –interrupted only when the pressure-brewer chimed, signaling that the coffee was ready.

Rick knew he'd struck a nerve, and decided it'd be better to back off and yield to the fox's implied demands...  
"Sure Jim, with just a tiny bit of cream would be great..."  
He turned away from James, opened up the newspaper and skimmed over an article...

The fox turned his attention to the coffee –pouring out two mugs worth, and adding the cream and sugar...  
"So tell me about this 'business' you came here for..."  
…while he steered the subject away from his personal life.

Rick turned a page of his newspaper and carried on as if it were a normal conversation...  
"You've been to Zoness, right?"

James returned with a pair of piping hot mugs filled with the fresh brewed coffee...  
"A few times –nice place to get away for a vacation. Why?"  
...one of which he offered to his guest.

Rick accepted the steaming mug, and proceeded to elaborate on his point...  
"It certainly is one impressive planet, but don't be fooled by those gleaming port-cities. Zoness gets that kind of money from an extraordinarily high demand for steel, courtesy of neighboring Macbeth's manufacturing industries. That demand for raw materials is what fuels the Zonessian iron-ore mining and steel refining businesses –one the dirtiest, most cut-throat competitive corporate affairs in all Lylat..."

The raccoon folded the newspaper and took a careful drought of his coffee before going on...

"It's said that competition between companies breeds innovation, but when that competition gets out of hand, it will also inevitably breed hostility. The Zoness Authority Protectorate, 'ZAP', is an laughably pathetic excuse for large-scale law enforcement, and the companies will generally settle these kind of disputes on their own –often hiring mercenaries as muscle for their dirty-work..."

The pause was enough of a hint, but Rick tied up the loose-ends of his speech anyway...

"Sometime within the next 48 hours or so, one such hostile cross-company incident is going to break-out on Zoness. Your Star Fox mercenary unit will then be highly recommended and subsequently hired to settle it."

James was listening so intently that he'd hardly touched his own coffee. Rick's last statement demanded a question begged...  
"How do you know this?"

It was exactly the question Richard Cooney was expecting...  
"Because Jim, it will all be staged..."

He set the folded newspaper on the tabletop with the front-page and headlines for all to see... _  
Crooks Break-out, get Broken-up.  
_The accompanying photo was a still-frame of the Sector-X dogfight, and the front page story was on that very subject...

James took the newspaper and looked over the article. Rick took this time to explain himself...  
"When I looked into investigating this whole hijacking and payback fiasco, the Zonessians were more than happy to oblige. Now, try to understand, the power players on Zoness are... let's just say 'less than a thrilled' at the Cornerians flexing their military muscles in everyones' faces, and on _their_ home turf. They on Zoness want to know what the hell is going down just like as the rest of us, but unlike most, they're willing to get their hands dirty and work under the table to do it –they're practically _used_ to it by now~"

James looked up from the paper, and interrupted before he completely lost the speeding train of thought...  
"Hold up. Where exactly does my team and I fit into this?"

The raccoon took a few seconds to organize his thoughts, then answered Jame's question in-full...  
"According to the paperwork, your team will be contracted by one of the mining companies to do the fairly typical mercenary work of neutralizing an armed conflict. But here's the catch: instead of intervening in this 'conflict', you will assist Rache and I directly with our investigations. She's arranging everything on the Zoness end, so all we need now is your team's cooperation."

Richard Cooney took another drink of his coffee, and waited for the inevitable question from James...

"So, let me get this straight. You're faking an entire hostile engagement _just_ to cover your investigations?"

Rick nodded quietly...  
"It's only this once. Rache and I don't have any leads whatsoever on this case and as it stands, the only place we're going to find something is in the wreck of that prison ship. If you've paid attention to even _half_ the crazy politics involved in it~"

James rolled his eyes and dropped the newspaper back on the table...  
"Right, I get it –more covert-ops shenanigans... But why Star Fox? Why can't you use some other, more experienced mercenary unit?"

"Okay, two reasons Jim..."  
He listed them off on his fingers...  
"Number one: all of you in this team are firsthand eyewitnesses to the Sector-X incident and I want you to be there to assist this investigation. Number two: in this particularly volatile matter, I'd like to use a group that won't be a liability to my or Rache's cover –that'd be you. Believe me, if I had better options at my disposal, I wouldn't be here..."  
He finished off the last of his coffee, and set the empty mug down...  
"So, got any more burning questions?"

James drummed his fingers against the table, and produced one such question...  
"Yeah, do I get any choice in this?"

"Of course, Jim..."  
The raccoon picked his newspaper off the table...  
"You can either choose to compromise an undercover operation on which the continued stability of the Lylat system could hinge..."  
The raccoon agent allowed a quick smirk to cross his face...  
"...or, you can choose to get paid."

James couldn't help but chuckle at Rick's answer...  
"Mercenary, right... I guess I'll take pay."

"Good choice. Just meet-up where and when your client agrees to, Rache and I will be there to fill you in on further details when you get there..."  
Rick got out of his chair...  
"Speaking of which, I need to take-off for Zoness –so this is goodbye..."

James likewise stood up from his seat...  
"It was good to have to stop by, even at these hours. I'll be sure to let the guys know what's up."

"Good to hear, Rache and I'll see you on Zoness then..."  
Rick started toward the door, buttoning his jacket as he walked...

"Oh, and one more thing Jim..."  
He stopped just short of the doorway, and turned his head to the side...  
"...You really should slow down and take it easy with this Reinard girl. You've still got your whole life ahead of you to live."  
Then he left.

Left to himself, James picked up his still untouched mug of coffee, and gave it a little absent-minded stir.  
His thinking mind wandered into the distance, and to wherever his whims took him...


	12. Masquerade

_. . . these are the times of dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the ocean's skin, one forgets the tiger heart that pants beneath it; and would not willingly remember, that this velvet paw but conceals a remorseless fang. _

-Herman Melville, _Moby Dick_-

* * *

_**Masquerade**_

The churning surface of the blue-green ocean stood against a vivid blue and sunlit sky. There was no fog here, but the horizon on one side lay obscured in a wispy gray mist. The other side held a hint of shoreline in the distance...

A flight of four fightercraft descended over the Zonessian sea toward the distant shoreline in a rough diamond formation. They were none other than the principal fighters of the newly incorporated Star Fox private military contractor unit. James McCloud -flying Fang- took the lead position with Peppy piloting sleek Thumper on the right, Pigma in the inconspicuous Gizmo to the left, and Scott bringing up the rear in great, thundering Nessie.

Peppy Hare's voice and face filled the cockpits of his wingmen over their A/V comm channel..._  
_"...so we're getting into all this big, complicated intrigue, huh Jimmy? And on our first job no less."

Pigma took the hare's place over the channel...  
"Man, you gotta love these scheming Intelligence wonks –who else'd go so far out of their way to mess with everyone's heads like this? But hey, at least they pay well..."  
The swine paused and quizzically shifted his eyes about...  
"They _do _pay well, right?"

Peppy returned to the channel with a cocked eyebrow and a tone of skepticism...  
"My gosh Pigma, how in Lylat can you be thinking of the profits with so much at stake? We've all gotta focus on the mission at-hand right now."

Pigma rebutted with a condescending sigh...  
"Peppy, pal... I know the job is important and all, but between the lease bill, equipment, fuel and maintenance costs –plus a whole heap of other expenses on us– these Intel folks better be cranking out some serious dough if we want to even _see_ another mission. You get me?"

Scott wedged himself between Pigma and Peppy before their confrontation got out of hand...  
"Hauld yer hyperdrive, pork-chop will ye? We's goin'tae be well enough payed tae cover oor expenditure thingmes, an' wi' a swally profit tae boot..."

During their brief exchange, the group closed-in toward a shining city of grandiose towers and spires, juxtaposed by scanty, outlying suburbs and a crammed oceanfront district.

James took this opportunity to assert his authority, and remind the team why they're here...  
"Cut the chatter guys, we're coming up on Port Seyid. Be sure to land at pier 3-23 at the Adalid commercial sea wharfs –we're supposed to get more instructions there."

The rest of Star Fox offered affirmative responses...

"Gotcha Jimmy."

"No sweat man."

"This lads, is were th' good part begins..."

The four fighters continued to flyover the harbors and jetties of the busy Zonessian seaport in rough formation. A myriad of water-bound vehicles and sea-craft dotted the coastal waters. Some were diligent, industrious vessels going about their duties, and others: lavish pleasure yachts that meandered lazily out to sea...

They came upon an empty concrete pier with the numbers '3-23' painted on the surface and sides. It was about fifty meters wide, extended several hundred more into the harbor, and had a single medium-sized vessel moored to it.

The Star Fox team maneuvered their fighters over the pier, touched down on an open area near the vessel and disembarked...

Each member was dressed in their full operations regalia. James wore the same outfit he 'tested' Fang in earlier. Peppy and Pigma had acquired similar flight-suits as their brash vulpine leader, but put their own personal flare to them. Scott was the odd man out again, dressed in the very same khaki combat uniform James first met him in –complete with tartan-patterned cloth over one shoulder and impact-claymore strapped to his back...

The teem was met by a group of about two dozen figures of varying species gathered on the pier nearby the boarding gantry for the ship. Many were dressed in similar gray uniforms with blue trim, others wore what they wanted, and a few sported official maritime attire...

Two familiar figures broke from the small crowd and approached the Star Fox team –the Cooney twins. Rick wore only plain gray coat with otherwise ordinary clothing, and Rachelle sported her favored technician's pocket-dotted outfit.

"Morning boys, and welcome to Port Seyid, planet Zoness..."  
It was the sister who greeted them...

A middle aged, long-whiskered otter came alongside the Cooneys. He wore a traditional maritime captain's coat, and the stony demeanor of a harsh taskmaster...  
"Are these the pilots?..."  
The Captain gestured roughly toward the Star Fox team.

Rick answered his question...  
"They sure are, Capn'..."

"Good..."  
The otter turned back toward the crowd and called out four names...  
"Diego, Jose, Francisco, Juan, the mercenaries have finally arrived. You all know what to do, now go make yourselves comfortable..."

The captain then motioned toward the landed fighters of Star Fox, and the four crewmen he called for broke away from the crowd and made their way toward the spacecraft...

James stepped forward, a little concerned with the lightning-fast pace everything was moving, and greeted the captain with a question...  
"And you are?..."

The older otter answered quickly and firmly, hardly missing a beat...  
"Your employer for the day, Otto Jäeger. I've been placed in command of the good ship _Apeo_ back there."  
He jabbed his thumb behind him to indicate the moored ship...  
"And you are Star Fox, that much I know. I'd give all a warmer welcome aboard but, there is a ship and crew back there which require my immediate attention..."

Otto turned toward the crew behind him and began barking orders and he strode for the boarding gantry...  
"Everyone to your stations, and prepare for castoff! I want this sloop out to sea five minutes ago!..."  
Jäeger's voice became lost amidst the bustling activity he ignited in the crew.

Most of the Star Fox team made for the boarding gantry along with Rick Cooney, but James stayed behind for a moment –intending to clear up a few things...

The fox took a few steps closer to Rachelle, and crossed his arms...  
"I take it this is all apart of the big plan?"

"No, really Jamie?"  
She turned her head in an exaggerated double-take toward the Apeo...  
"Your knack for stating the obvious and asking redundant questions could drive any ordinary person insane..."

James had a witty comeback prepared...  
"I guess it's a good thing your _far_ from ordinary then, huh?"

Rachelle ran a had over the fox's head.  
"Don't push it..."

James brushed the hand off...  
"But seriously Rache, what the heck did you cook-up here?"

The pair started up the boarding gantry of Apeo as she answered...  
"Nothing fancy, just a simple masquerade operation..."

The fox stopped for a second, dumbfounded...  
"A masker-_what_ now?"

Rachelle turned behind her to find James lost without a clue. She waited for the vulpine fighter-pilot to join her on the ship's deck before explaining any further...  
"This entire mission is essentially posing or 'masquerading' as an intervention in a hostile conflict. This ship, the Apeo, is playing the part of 'bait' to draw out the attackers: supposedly some thuggish muscle picking off passing ships. Your mercenary crew is supposed to 'spring the trap' and catch them off guard. Stuff like this happens all the time here on Zoness, and our kindly Captain Jäeger is no stranger to these kind of situations..."

The two began a slow walk along the deck...  
"But that's all fake."

She rolled her eyes...  
"Yes Jamie, that's the cover-story. We even have stand-in pilots to fly your fighters out to sea after us –gotta make it look convincing after all..."

The ship, Apeo eased away from the pier and fired-up it's engines to began its exit the harbor. Rachelle led James forward further along the deck so she wouldn't have to shout over the roaring engine and distressed waters...

"Now, what we'll _actually_ be doing is quite simple. The Apeo is going to head out to sea over the wreck, deploy a submersible craft with all of us aboard, and we'll head for the sunken ship."

"But how~?"

Already two steps ahead of James, Rachelle stopped him before he could even begin his question.  
"Cornerian prisoner transport vessels are built to be practically indestructible, so do you honestly think a little water is going to put one of those suckers out of business? It's probably still intact and mostly functional, but stuck on the sea floor. All we have to do pump it full of breathable air, flush-out the seawater through an airlock, and board it –easy as that. Hopefully the water hasn't had enough time to do much damage..."

Rachelle and James continued along the bustling deck of the Apeo, and were soon lost among the busy crewmen. The hardened seamen dashed from station to station, each doing their part, like a well-oiled machine, to bring the ship out of the harbor and out to sea...

Pigma wasn't doing quite as well –he gripped the gunwale and cautiously inched along the ship's deck.  
"Aw shit, I forgot how bad my seasick gets..."  
Even here in the harbor, he looked a little green and queasy.  
"If I'd known this whole kooky getup meant busting out the old sea-legs, I would've brought pills or something."

On the other hand, Peppy didn't have any trouble adjusting to the sea, and came right up to the terribly nauseated swine.  
"Heh, drop the griping Pigma. I'll bet the ship's medic has exactly what your looking for..."  
The gray hare had a well-worn combat shotgun slung over his shoulder, which he smoothly pulled down and began to inspect...

Pigma flinched away, forgetting about his seasickness for a moment.  
"_Whoa_, easy with the firearms pal."

Peppy replied as he browsed over a few pouches on his belt...  
"Thing is, I've got an inkling Lucy here's gonna come in handy today..."  
He selected one of the bags, and loaded a number of cartridges from his chosen ammo pouch into the tubular magazine.  
"...call it a _gut_ feeling."  
He finished loading, and slung the weapon over his shoulder again...

"Oh fuck, don't say the word 'gut'~"  
Pigma barely managed to cover his snout and hold-down a gastric swell.

Peppy laughed lightly at this, and offered the stricken young swine some assistance...  
"Come on, let's see if we can find you some of those nifty pills..."  
He led Pigma through a door, and into the inner-decks of the Apeo...

-----

Somewhere else on the ship's deck, Scott Aberdeen leaned his elbows against the safety railing, and watched the harbor pass by as the Apeo left port. Rick Cooney approached him slowly from behind, and was almost startled when the terrier addressed him without any indication that he knew Rick was there...

"Rich, fer th' love o' Alba, please tell me ye did'nae go through all this trouble jus' fer me own sake."  
Scott turned his head and peered at the raccoon behind him out of the corner of his eye...

Rick joined the charcoal terrier at the railing, and responded coolly...  
"I know how much they all meant to you, so I'd be lying if I said there was nothing personal involved. But rest assured, I do have a genuinely strong hunch that there's something greater at work here."

"Ye're sure o' this?"

"Not yet, but I'll be dead certain one way or the other after today. The least I could do is let you go back, and let you pay your respects."

Scott returned his attention to the waters, and watched a bobbing signal-buoy pass by...  
"I appreciate it, but th' mission always comes firs', nae matter what."

"Of course, Scott. But I'd bet even you'd want to get back at the bastards who took down your team..."

Rick's comment reignited a smoldering ember in Scott's eyes. Even if it was derived from anger, it at least made Scott focused and purposeful –rather than dim and dreary as he was before. He scoffed to himself, and offered his response...  
"Right ye are Richard. Let's do this then."

* * *

The hotel room was typical enough: small bathroom by the door with a vanity and mirror across from that. A neatly made bed sat by the window at the other end of the room, and a chair and end-table set across from the bed. What could be considered unusual, was that all the lights were turned off, except for one table lamp, and the blinds were shut. It left the room in the eerie glow given off by a single weak light source.

There were a few knocks at the door –thunder when compared to the silence otherwise. Then there was a familiar voice...  
"Enos? Enos it's me: your brother in-law, Tony, could you please open the door? Mr. Carrion and I are here to speak with you..."  
That was Antonio Oikonny, just as annoying and insufferable as always...

Andross was in the room; sitting in the small lounge chair by an end-table. To say that he looked tired would be a gross understatement. Dr. Andross bore the look both of one who hadn't slept in several days, and of one who could not fall asleep if he tried. However, the dark green bottle and half-empty wine glass resting on the end-table told a very different story...

Shortly after Oikonny went silent, a much firmer, and more confident voice carried through the door...  
"No good..."  
Carrion...

"Not to worry Conrad, I have a key..."  
A click from the lock confirmed that the door had unlocked, and then it opened –flooding the room with light from the hallway outside.

The silhouettes of two figures entered the room –one: a thin monkey, the other: a tall and reasonably built bird of prey.

At least Oikonny had the mercy to shut the door on his way in...  
"Oh no, it's worse than I thought. Enos? Can you hear me?~"

"I can hear you just fine, thank you."  
Andross waited impatiently for someone to say something...

"What's all this?"  
The nervous silver-haired monkey stepped further into the room, and gestured toward the wine bottle on the table

"A glass of red wine a day is good for the health, haven't you heard?..."  
He finished off the glass of wine, and set it back on the table...

Conrad picked up the surprisingly light bottle, and found it nearly empty...  
"Mr. Andross, this looks like more than a single glass's worth.I understand you took the conversation with your former wife..."  
he set the bottle back on the end table...  
"...a little hard."

"A _little?_"  
He leaned forward to the edge of his seat...  
"I spilled every ounce of feeling I had for her like some stupid, blubbering, _inamorato,_ and all I managed to do was utterly bemuse, baffle and confuse her... I, with my own very words, brought dearest Trishta to full blown _tears_ –you cannot even begin to imagine how _I_ must have felt."  
He poured himself another glass of red wine...

Antonio fidgeted restlessly...  
"I suppose an 'I told you so.' would out of the question then?..."

Andross silenced Oikonny with a glare drilled straight into the thin monkey's head –the effect was enhanced by the ape's bold crimson iris color...  
"Shut, Up."  
He held his smoldering stare for a few seconds longer, then sank back into the lounge chair...  
"I've lived half my life already, and what do I have to show for it? A single interesting theory, a few years of teaching, and several more in jail for a crime I did not commit. When I was released, the one thing I was certain I still had -the one thing I could be genuinely proud of no matter what- was a family of my own... but even that is denied me now."

"But your Voyager thesis is finally published, and the people can't get enough of it. Surely you have some pride in that."

Andross replied with a sarcastic laugh, probably more from the wine than from amusement...  
"Don't be ridiculous..."  
Any trace of mirth -ironic or otherwise- left the ape...  
"No matter how fascinating or potentially enlightening that particular article is –it is still only the mere past. What do people care if we so happen to share our distant history with an ancient and long-extinct sentient race? It doesn't profoundly affect our day-to-day lives. It doesn't revolutionize the way anything is produced or used. It doesn't bring about a major leap in our progress, the way the discovery of Sauria and Cerinia did. Voyager, the humans, and all of its contents, are nothing more than a minuscule tidbit one can read about in a textbook and think to themselves _'how interesting'_ then move on with their lives. _'Most profound discovery in our history'_ my ass!"

The ape sank back into the lounge chair, defeated...  
"What use could Lylat possibly have for a walking, talking freak-show like me?"

Conrad Carrion stepped forward.  
"Maybe I can help you there."

Andross got out of the lounge chair and stood up to the avian politician –a remarkable feat considering Senator Carrion stood nearly a foot higher than the ape...  
"And what a _wonderful_ help you've been thus far, my big-shot politician friend. I thank you, truly."

Conrad Carrion simply ignored Andros's bitter sarcasm, and drove his offer home...  
"As a man with your kind of knowledge, passion, devotion -and from your unique position no less- you could very well change the face of Science in the Lylat system..."  
The eagle reproduced that unmistakable gleam in his goldenrod eyes...  
"But only if you think you're up to it."

Antonio cautiously inserted himself onto one side...  
"Please Enos, give it a chance –what more do you have to lose?"

Dr. Andross broke away from the two politicians and made for the window. He found the controls, and adjusted the blinds to allow himself to see outside –broad daylight spilled brilliantly through the gaps between shade-slats. The ape crossed his arms and watched the outside world go by for a few moments...

For once again in a very long time, and in stark defiance to the alcohol throughout his system, Enos Andross truly and honestly _thought_...

"..._'Change the face of Science'_ you say?..."  
Dr. Andross slowly returned to where Carrion and Oikonny stood. ...  
"I suppose it's worth a shot –It's not like I have anything better to do..."  
He sat back down in the lounge chair, and laced his fingers together in front of him...

"So, Oikonny, Carrion... How precisely, will this all this work? And where shall we start?"

Antonio sighed deeply with relief, releasing a breath he'd been holding.

The sides of Conrad Carrions mouth may have turned-up ever so slightly in the most subtle of smiles, but one couldn't be sure...  
"Tell me Mr. Andross, what do you know about the Cerinia project?"

* * *

The large forward portal revealed an eerie scene lit by the glow of floodlights –the side of the sunken prison ship's thick hull which stretched forward into the fading darkness. A pair of manipulator arms attached to the sub worked tirelessly to rig a set of hoses to the vessel's airlock...

"Got it..."  
Rachelle was at the controls inside, and opened up an A/V channel...  
"We're ready to go Otto. The hoses and everything all hooked-up, so you can begin the flush sequence whenever you're set..."

Captain Jäeger replied in his firm manner...  
_"Good, I'm firing-up the air pump now..."  
_The Otter gestured off-screen.

From outside, there was a shutter and hiss as highly compressed air forced itself through the airlock outside. It wasn't as visually obvious as the lurch suggested, but water was being forced out of the vessel...

"Alright, pressure looks good so far. If there are any leaks aboard, they'll be negligible at most..."  
She continued to monitor the instruments as the water continued to be expelled from the prison ship and replaced with air.

The Cooneys sat at the sub's control positions in front. The mercenary team Star Fox occupied the rest of the cramped cabin...

Pigma, probably expecting the worst, packed a toolkit with as many mechanical and electrical supplies as he could safely manage...  
"This is fucking insane..."  
...he placed a small spool of fiber-optic cable in his kit.

Peppy Hare just stood against the wall –waiting patiently and easily...  
"I dunno, I think it's kinda clever how they go about all this."

"What are you, crazy or something?"  
The swine gestured almost threateningly at Peppy with a pair of wire-strippers  
"We should be using diving gear for all this shit, not pumping a shipwreck full of air so we can go for a relaxing stroll at the bottom of the damned ocean! This is just _nuts!_"  
Pigma stuffed the wire-strippers into the toolkit, amongst his plethora of other equipment.

"Really?..."  
Overhearing this exchange, Rachelle turned around as best as she could and offered her rebuttal...  
"I'd like to see you, or any investigator, try the whole detective thing underwater, and all through a clumsy diving suit. It may not seem like it, but this option is both cheaper and way more efficient than going through the entire scuba mess..."

Rick joined in on this...  
"Besides Dengar, I'd hardly call this 'nuts' by my book –just abnormally large-scale..."

Rachelle rolled her eyes...  
"Here we go again..."  
She knew by his tone of voice that Rick was about to go-off on a tangent...

Which he did...  
"Now, sneaking into the heart of a crime boss's safe-house by impersonating one of the employees, then resetting all the traps and hidden entrances behind you without alerting security, and all for a polite, informative conversation with said criminal mastermind: that's insane, but we do what we have to."  
The raccoon ended with his arms folded in front of him...

Rachelle replied in an unmistakable sister's voice...  
"If I recall, you had the guy at gunpoint, didn't you bro?"

Rick just shrugged...  
"It was only for a second, and gunpoint is considered to be quite polite in those underground criminal circuits, especially when compared to their usual hospitality of weapons blazing at first-glance..."

Their conversation ended when the noises outside stopped, and Captain Jäeger reappeared over the A/V comm channel...  
_"That ought to do it. The ship should be habitable for at least several hours now, even without any life-support."_

Rachelle replied over the sub's on-board systems...  
"Thanks again Otto. From here on in, we're to keep comm silence between you and us, unless it's a life-or-death emergency obviously."

The otter nodded...  
_"Understood, I'll have Apeo and the crew on standby..."  
_The channel closed.

Rachelle used the sub's manipulator arms to detach the hoses from the airlock, and maneuvered the submersible to dock with the sunken prison ship...

Once securely attached to the airlock, Richard and Rachelle Cooney got up from their seats. Rick packed light, and was as ready as he could be. His technically-inclined sister on the other hand, carried an elaborate electronics kit with her –complete with a remarkably compact portable computing system...

Rick entered a few commands on a wall-panel, opening the sub's airlock...  
"Let's move it on out. Jim, Scott, we'll be heading for engineering. Rache, you take Hare and Dengar up to the bridge and do what you do best..."

The group of six exited the docking hatch of the submersible, and crossed the threshold into the soaked, dim corridors of the prison ship where the two parties parted company, and went their separate ways...

Surprisingly, the emergency lights still worked, as well as many other on-board systems. It seemed not even the crushing and invasive nature of water could to defeat this ever-enduring space vessel. Even after a thorough flushing, the air was still permeated by the salty-metallic aroma of seawater, but subtle undertones of a much fouler odor belied the gruesome truth...

It was only a matter of time before Both parties came across dozens upon dozens of waterlogged corpses scattered throughout the rooms and corridors of the vessel. Many had fatal blaster scoring, some had open lacerations, and still others had no outward wounds at all...

James stepped around one long-dead victim that was missing half his head from a shotgun blast...  
"I guess these black-ops guys don't mess around..."

Scott was soon to follow...  
"Soldiers in every sense o' th' word, lad."

The vulpine fighter-pilot rolled his eyes...  
"Solders –more like the arrogant, patronizing 'protectors' of the Lylat System... and protecting us from what exactly?"

Ahead of the other two, Richard Cooney stopped and waited for them to catch-up...  
"I'd hold those scoffs if you ever meet one of them in-person. The elite commandos of the Cornerian Army's Dagger Unit are no mere gun-toting, uniform-donning grunts. They are fearless, single-minded, ruthlessly efficient soldiers who'd kill without a second's hesitation when given orders, and they'd barely need a second to do it..."

Rick stepped over the body of a reptilian crewman. He had a stab wound through his stomach, but the blood had left the lifeless corpse long ago...  
"We can all thank Dagger's cold, calculating efficiency that our little trip down here is even possible. After all, why waste the valuable time and explosives to blow a hole in this ship's crazy thick hull when you can simply jam an airlock open instead?..."

The group of three passed another collection of dead, water-saturated bodies. A few of them had definite blaster-charring, but many had clean slash wounds, which peeled further open from their long underwater exposure...

"I remember this place."  
James recognized the handiwork of Scott's blade, as well as the wide, ominous corridor they were in...

"Aye, main engineering, lad."  
And there was the door: closed and sealed by Chakori Uncia to give James, Pigma and Scott the precious seconds they needed to escape...

James began to walk toward the entrance...  
"We were so damn close, and then..."

Rick laid a hand on the auburn fox's shoulder.  
"It's alright Jim, these things happen..."  
He stepped up to the sealed entrance to engineering, and looked over the cold, wet metal...  
"That self-inflated ringleader's dead body is behind this blast-door and in order to identify him, we'll need a tissue sample for DNA testing..."

Scott crossed his arms and shot a glance at the obstacle in-question...  
"Tha' bloody door's been welded shut, Rich..."

James joined in...  
"...which means we'd need fancy explosives, or a heavy-duty metallics saw to get through now."

"Do we?..."  
The raccoon cocked an eyebrow toward Scott, and stepped aside...

The terrier's ears pricked when he got the hint, and replaced his puzzled expression with a toothy grin...  
"Ah, I get ye..."  
Scott drew the impact-claymore off his back and activated the odd blade –only the power indication lights on the end of the hilt betraying the weapon's advanced nature...

He flourished the heavy blade and held it ready, tip-first toward the blast-door...  
"Once more intae th' breach then!..."  
With a vigorous fire in his eyes, the terrier plunged the length of his impact-claymore into the thick steel entrance, causing a fountain of white-hot sparks to erupt from the fissure as he began to carve out a rough circle in the door...

-----

Meanwhile, the other party consisting of Rachelle, Peppy and Pigma had just managed to get to the bridge...

The main entrance doorway slid reluctantly open, revealing the portly swine on his hands and knees with a few specialized tools in his hands...  
"There, easy as pie. You just gotta give 'em a little encouragement sometimes."

Peppy stepped through first, and gawked at the grisly scene before him...  
"Good God... It's a hell of lot worse when it's up-close like this..."

The command-crew and officers' drenched corpses were gathered up against one side of the bridge, and several other bodies of the ill-fated hijackers lay next to whatever station they were at, all long-dead by the look and smell of it. The large main-window of the bridge revealed only the grim darkness of the sea depths...

Rachelle came into the bridge next, and got the work started...  
"Come on, pork-pie. Let's see if we can get a few of these terminals up an running again..."  
She pulled her equipment-laden satchel off her shoulder and prepared a crack-team of computer devices for use...

Pigma gathered his own collection of gadgets, and followed the Cooney sister onto the bridge...  
"Alrighty, how about we start with the primary operations panel there?..."  
He pointed at a terminal near the captain's chair...  
"If we get this baby working, we'll get access to the ship's mainframe and all of its on-board control systems."

Rachele carted her mess to the console Pigma indicated...  
"It's as good a place as any to start."

With Pigma and Rachelle busy at their tinkering, Peppy brought his headset online and contacted the other party...  
"We're good as golden up here on the bridge, Dengar and Cooney are doing their techie thing. How're you guys holding up down there?..."

-----

Back outside engineering, James McCloud answered over his own headset...  
"We hit a little snag at the entrance! But we're almost through now!"  
He did his best to block-out and shout over the deafening, rattling scream of heavy steel –bitten by Scott's impact-claymore...

"_Gotcha Jimmy, I'll let you know when we've found something."_

"Same here!~"  
James just realized that the noise had stopped, leaving a ring in the ears. It could only mean the door had either been cut-through, or something was wrong...  
"I've gotta jet, Peppy."

The fox deactivated his headset comm and crossed the corridor to where Rick and Scott stood. The terrier had just sheathed his sword, and kicked-in the blast door's circular cutout –crashing onto the floor inside. Once Scott rolled the heavy disk out of the way, he and Rick ducked into the newly-formed opening, followed closely by James.

Main engineering hadn't changed much. The main reactor core and other machinery sat dormant in their usual places. Aside from all the black powder just at the entryway, it hadn't changed in the slightest...

"Dammit, I was afraid of this..."  
The raccoon agent stood to one side as he examined the blackened area just inside the door.  
"Complete carbonization by pyrolysis."

James looked at the scene, as if staring at it would help him understand what Rick just said...  
"How about in standard Cornerian, for the rest of us?..."

Richard Cooney inhaled a deep breath...  
"Our mysterious dead monkey was completely incinerated by this plasma blast. All we have now is this black soot, and there won't be anything useful in that crap..."  
Rick stepped back, scratching his head as he tried to think of something...

Unusual for Scott, he'd taken on a solemn, grave demeanor as he beheld this fateful location...  
"Chakori met her end here, _'Better to die than to be a coward'_ she'd oft say..."  
Any other individual may have broken-down into tears, but the stone-stubborn terrier simply became devoid of all emotion whatsoever...  
"...An' true tae her word, th' lass wen' doon in a blaze o' glory –th' very way she'd wan'tae go."  
He fell silent, and became rigid as a board with his breath coming in short and shallow...

The raccoon returned to the group, and released a frustrated sigh...  
"Let's move further in. I don't think this loser, or anyone, could've eliminated half of Star Terrier single-handedly, so he must've had accomplices. And if he took Uncia hostage by himself, then there must also have been casualties..."  
He started toward the dormant inner mechanical workings of engineering, leaving a trail of powdery black footprints...

Noticing this, James reached down and ran his fingers through the fine black substance on the floor. He brought his hand up, and found the powder had clung to his glove and fingertips, but what both surprised and worried him was...  
"It's dry..."

Scott glanced up, puzzled.  
Rick stopped in his tracks, and glanced about the main chamber of engineering –with a deeply troubled demeanor about him now.

James spoke up louder...  
"This ship is underwater, but the soot and the whole room here –It's all dry."


	13. Watery Grave Robbers

_**Watery Grave-Robbers**_

On the bridge of the sunken Prison Ship, Rachelle Cooney sat hunched over an operations console –wrangling the beaten terminal, and her relentless fingers coordinating the attack. Her eyes darted determinedly about the screen, and occasionally to her own instruments as she undermined and circumvented the vessel's digital security systems...

At last, a few chimes and a displayed message from the console signaled it's final defeat...  
+++Access Granted (Full)+++  
+++Welcome Captain Cooney+++

Rachelle smirked, relishing in her digital victory...  
"I'm in..."

She began going through the ship's systems...  
+++Systems Overview:+++  
Primary Reactor: Inactive (Shut Down)  
Backup Reactors: Active  
Life Support: Active (Limited)  
Propulsion: Inactive (Malfunction)  
G-Diffusers: Inactive (Malfunction)

Rachelle's assessment was interrupted by Pigma's enthusiastic voice, cutting through silence like a hot knife in butter...  
"There! Got another one of these clunkers up and running, and my mechanic's credentials still work here –Hot Damn!..."

Rachelle looked up from her setup, and gave Pigma something to do...  
"Don't celebrate just yet. Why don't you start combing through the comm-logs? Look for anything out of the ordinary..."

"No problemo..."  
The gleeful swine cracked his knuckles and set about his work...

Rachelle returned her attention to the console in front of her, and resumed her probing of the prison ship's computing mainframe...  
"That's odd..."

Peppy had quietly taken a position over the raccoon's shoulder...  
"What is?"

She glanced back at the gray hare, and elaborated...  
"I'm not finding any trace of the virus I planted here. The G-diffuser systems are still shot, but it's like they blew on their own, without any outside interference –as if my virus wasn't even here..."

Pigma's voice crashed the party... again.  
"Ehh... bit of a problemo, actually..."

Rachelle Cooney sighed...  
"Great, more good news. What is it?"

His hands were typing and entering commands furiously...  
"All the comm-logs got deleted, I'll try recovering 'em but, no promises..."

She returned her attention back to her own console...  
"This just gets weirder and weirder~"

"_Hare!... get your tail back to the sub... prep it for launch!" _

Peppy jumped up when Rick Cooney nearly shouted across the group's comm channel...  
"What?~"

"_Now!... And get armed!"_

Peppy -still befuddled by Rick's demands- gathered his courage and made a swift beeline for the bridge entrance. Before he left, he drew his shotgun 'Lucy', and pumped a cartridge into the firing chamber...

"C'mon Lucy, let's do this thing..."  
With that, the hare sprinted out of the bridge combat-ready...

Rick was breathing heavily, as if he was running from something...  
_"Rache... I need you to get... the interior security monitors online... and start peeping through the ship...."_

Rachelle was just as lost, but more demanding than Peppy was of answers. She adjusted her bulkier, more sophisticated headset...  
"Why in Lylat do you need security monitors, bro? And what did you send the Pep-boy back for? This tub is supposed to be deserted..."

-----

The party from engineering were all at a brisk jog back through the prison ship's dimly lit corridors. Scott and James had their blasters drawn and ready –keeping a sharp lookout as the trio progressed further...

The raccoon conversed over his miniature ear-piece headset as he ran...  
"That's what I thought too sis, but~"  
A noise?...

Rick stopped, and risked a glance over his shoulder...  
"I've been wrong before..."  
That couldn't have been a noise, could it?...

Only by the faint crackle of background static passed over the channel, until Rachelle finally replied...  
_"...I'll see what I can do."  
_The channel closed, and took the hissing white noise away with it...

In this unbroken silence, Richard Cooney listened as hard he knew how –listened for anything, and practically whispered to himself...  
"It's quiet... too quiet."

As corny as it is, that timeless saying has an origin. It was the sort of silence one hears only when someone is trying very, very hard to remain hidden. They could be cowering in fear, trying to sneak by unnoticed... or stalking for the kill. Only the latter two could be dangerous, and the last one; deadly...

"Scott, Jim... I think I heard something up ahead. Go check it out."  
The raccoon agent pointed a finger down the hall...

The terrier was already gone, but James McCloud was a bit skeptical, and hung back for a second...  
"But I didn't~"

"Just go!"  
Rick cut the fox off with sharp words and an equally sharp glare...  
"Stick with Scott, and stay alert..."

The fox gave a nod, brought his sturdy military blaster ready, and took-off after Scott...

A predator will always prey upon the weakest available target: the sick, the young, the wounded, the confused...  
The loner...

Rick drew his discrete blaster handgun from the shoulder holster inside his gray coat, and diligently trained his sights along the dark corridor, the opposite direction he sent Scott and James...  
And he waited...

The raccoon dispensed with using his eyes entirely; anyone who intends to remain hidden will know how to undermine and exploit someone who glances feverishly about in an attempt to locate them. Instead, Rick gazed steadily down the damp, darkened hallway, and utilized his other senses...

A stealthy pursuer will know how to move silently and invisibly, they may even have specialized gear to help them here. However, even if one had state-of-the-art equipment, even if they'd utilized every cute trinket of stealth-junk on the market, they'd still be physically solid...

Richard Cooney began to tap his right foot repeatedly on the ground...  
And he listened.

_Tap... Tap... Tap..._

The raccoon agent kept tapping and listening for several seconds, knowing full-well that the stalker would likely use this noise to mask his own footsteps. In these arrow-straight, metal-clad corridors, the sound waves bounced around like pinballs –ricocheting across and all about without anything to absorb the echoes...

_Tap... Tap... Tap..._

And there it was...  
It was a minuscule acoustic dead-spot: a place where the audible compressions of the air stopped their bouncing. A place where sound-waves fell silent as they're absorbed into a usually soft medium, such as a living body....

_Tap... Tap... Tap... _

The dead-spot was a few meters behind, and more importantly, it was moving steadily closer toward Rick with every tap of his shoe. A cowering stowaway wouldn't have moved, and a cautious sneak afraid of detection would've slunk away. That meant this mystery-man was of the third category: a killer, and an extraordinarily resourceful one to have survived both Dagger's onslaught and the sinking...

_Tap... Tap... Tap..._

He was closing in: two meters...  
Surprise and speed are absolutely vital to neutralize one of these stalker-killers. Any sudden changes on Rick's part, no matter how subtle, would alert the stalker, and compromise this fragile element of surprise...

_Tap... Tap... Tap..._

One meter: it had to be now...  
Rick stopped the tapping, and heard a faint, but sharp intake of breath behind him; the split-second of hesitation he needed...  
Not wasting this chance, the raccoon brought his left leg up and twisted his body into a lighting-quick, tremendously powerful back-kick –amplified by his metal prosthetic.

The full force of Rick's metallic heel caught the attacker squarely in his abdomen, and completely by surprise –forcing him to stagger backward a few feet from the blow. The agent immediately brought his handgun to bear on this silhouetted attacker, but the assailant recovered too quickly. He lunged forward, and knocked Rick's blaster-hand aside just as the raccoon fired-off a shot.

With the raccoon's weapon pointed away, the attacker quickly brought his other arm down, wielding a vicious bowie-style combat knife in a backhand grip. Rick barely caught the attacker's wrist with his left hand –blade still pointing threateningly toward him.

The combatants came to an awkward standstill. Each held the other's weapon-hand at bay, and if either one lifted a leg to kick with, they'd be vulnerable to lose their balance –and they both knew it.

In this momentary cease in movement, Richard Cooney recognized his attacker...  
"You!"

It was the same bleach-white wolf who'd accepted Rachelle's bugged hard-drive, and who seemed to have taken charge of the hijacked prison ship after that monkey went up in plasma. He was dressed still in the blue warden's uniform, but with just the gray undershirt on the upper body...

"Who the hell are you, and how the hell did you survive?"

The pale lupine attacker leered back through a pair of sanguine violet eyes...  
"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

The wolf reared his head back for a walloping headbutt. –there'd only be one chance at this... Just as the nameless attacker plunged his head downward, Rick stepped to the right and forward, extending his left arm across the wolf's neck and drawing his blaster-hand close. At the same time, the raccoon quietly positioned his left foot behind the attacker's heel...

Got him...

Cooney simultaneously swept his left leg back -knocking the attacker's foot out from under him- and cranked his left arm forward. The move knocked the wolf off-balance, and ultimately onto his back. The raccoon dropped down with him and planted his right knee solidly on top of the wolf's chest. The attacker still had Rick's blaster-hand, but he was able to wrench the muzzle of the weapon straight toward the wolf's head...

"Do us both a favor, and drop the knife."

The pale wolf kept pushing Rick's blaster-hand away with his own left hand, making the threat seem moot...  
"Or... What?..."  
He was having some trouble speaking with the weight on his chest...

Rick grabbed the attacker's right shoulder with his left hand, and began to crush his knee harder against the attacker's chest...  
"Or in about thirty seconds, give or take a few, you'll pass-out from compressive asphyxia when you can't even expand your lungs to breathe, and you'll drop the knife anyway..."

The white wolf wasn't giving up yet. and tried to struggle free from the knee-on-chest submission hold Rick had him in...  
"Fuck!... You!..."  
He glared at the raccoon as the last of the air escaped his lungs from speaking. As long as Richard Cooney still had his knee pressed into the wolf's chest, he didn't have any way to breathe-in new air...

"Suit yourself..."  
The raccoon continued on in an even-keeled, matter-of-fact fashion...  
"You'll start to feel a little light-headed, then that'll turn into one doozy of a headache..."

The restrained lupine attacker tried an infuriated snarl, but only managed to show his teeth. His legs also began to thrash and convulse as the oxygen became scarce throughout his body. Desperate, the wolf parted his jaws to gasp for air, but wasn't able to draw breath with Rick pressing-down on his chest like a vice-grip...

Gradually, the attacker's movements became less controlled, more irregular, continuously slowing down until finally, those piercing violet eyes rolled back into their sockets, and he didn't move any longer –unconscious...

A guttural, affected battle-cry was uttered somewhere down the hall...  
"C_labydoo!~_"  
Scott.

The echoing holler cut-out for a fraction of a second as the terrier streaked down the hall in a pale blue flash, and rematerialized next to the raccoon with his impact-claymore at the ready...  
"~_Ooooo_- oh... Ye got him."

Scott sheathed his sword...  
"Th' lad an' I heard th' soonds o' a scuffle, so we~"

James just rejoined the party after a sprint down the corridor, a little out of breath...  
"Whoa..."  
The fox had his eyebrows raised pretty high, impressed with the raccoon's handiwork...  
"Rick, did you just?..."

Rick stood up, dusted himself off...  
"I do what I have to, Jim..."  
...and replaced his blaster in its shoulder-holster...

"Well m'boy, don' jus stand there wi' tha' daftie expression stuck tae your mullet, yon wanker needs restrainin' afore he comes aboot."  
The terrier gave James a hearty slap on the back...

"Right..."  
He and Scott dragged the unconscious wolf aside, and set about tieing his hands together...

Rick stepped away, and opened up the group's comm channel over his tiny ear-piece headset...  
"We can all relax now, I've just neutralized one dangerous, mysterious, and pretty wily survivor that tried to attack me..."

Rachelle responded first...  
_"Guess we won't be needing security monitors then..."_

"I got lucky sis, that's all. Did you find anything up there?"

"_The comm logs were all deleted, but I've got pork-pie working to recover~"_

"_Got 'em! Heheh..." _

"Nice work"  
The raccoon allowed himself a relived smile. The mission was finally turning-up something useful, and even a survivor...  
"Download those logs and head back to the sub. We're getting off this damned ghost-ship as soon as as we~"

Peppy's Hare's unnerved voice cut through the comm chatter...  
_"I don't mean to rain on the parade and all, but there might be a compromising issue with that plan..."_

After a few awkward seconds of silence, Rick asked the question on everyone's mind...  
"What kind of 'issue' are we talking about, Hare?"

"_The sub's gone."_

-

_*BOOM*_

_-_

A thunderous blast loud enough to topple whole mountains roared throughout the ship. The massive shock of which sent the entire vessel careening to one side, throwing the party clear off their feet as if nothing more than rag-dolls. An agonized metallic scream ripped through the ship as her hull, once-considered impervious, was torn asunder...

Pigma was the first to realize what happened...  
_"Holy Shit dude! We've got one motherfucker of a hull-breach~!"_

James scrambled up and got a grip of his frenzied teammate over the channel...  
"Clench it, Pigma! Now can you seal-off that breach?"

"_Done, but these bulkheads was made to close-out a vacuum, not hold back this fucking water-pressure. They ain't gonna hold for long –I'd give it five, maybe ten minutes tops..."_

Scott rose unsteadily to his feet...  
"Where's tha' leave us then?"

Rick pushed himself up, and joined-in on his ear-piece comm...  
"There aren't any other vehicles aboard, and Apeo doesn't have another sub. Our only option now is to raise this ship to the surface –fast... Any ideas?"

Rachelle began shooting down the possibilities that wouldn't work...  
_"G-diffuser's shot, engine's shot~"_

Peppy's voice came in with a thought...  
_"What about the life-support? We can increase the air-pressure, make us buoyant~"_

"_With this clonker? Not a chance, Pepp-boy."_

Jame's ears flicked, and his steely eyes lit-up with an idea of his own...  
"You said the G-diffusers were overloaded, right?"

"_Yep... would've blown the fuse clean off~"_

"Great Pigma! That is _exactly_ what I wanted to hear..."  
The auburn fox took himself off the comm channel. He looked straight at Scott, determined, and showed him an open hand....  
"I need your sword, right now..."

The terrier scrunched his eyebrows together...  
"Whae' fer~?"

"We don't have time for this, Scott!..."  
James bore down on the terrier...  
"I need that thing to save our sorry hides!..."

Cooney saw the gears whirling behind the decisive fox's eyes, and reassured Scott...  
"I think I know what he has in-mind, Scott. Why don't you and I get our new 'friend' back to the airlock?..."  
Rick gestured to the out-cold wolf behind him...

Scott glanced between the fox and raccoon, then reluctantly unsheathed his impact-claymore and presented the hilt to James...  
"Jus' bring her back in a single piece if ye can, lad..."

The brazen young fox took the weapon in his hand with a confident smirk...  
"Oh, I'll do better than that..."  
He turned away, and sprinted back toward engineering.

With James away, Rick and Scott gave their new 'friend' the attention he deserved. They each pulled one of the wolf's bare arms across their shoulders, and hoisted him up between them. Under the quiet moan of a dying ship around them, they started off in the other direction...

Cooney got on his comm again –with the surface this time...  
"Otto, we've had some trouble and we're gonna need evac, asap..."

"_You're not using the submarine's comm systems. Is there a~?" _

Jäeger's voice was overrun by a cry of mutilated steel that shook the very depths of the vessel...

"Ye Daftie Sea-Salt!!..."_  
_His eyes infernos, Scott vocally exploded over the Captain...  
"...We're Still In th' Bloody _Prison Ship!! _An' we'z takin'-on water tae boot!!"

Rick put himself between Scott and the captain as soon as the opportunity presented itself...  
"Track the sub's movement, Otto. Someone's stolen it, and I'd wager they also blew this tub a new one."

Captain Jäeger had a little bad news for them...  
_"The thief must've disabled the sub's tracking beacon, and our sonar is still blinded by whatever that explosion was... I don't have any means to track that submarine anymore~"_

"Dammit!"  
The raccoon stomped his foot...  
"We're going to try to raise this dump topside, so just be ready for extraction then..."

"_I'll have the Apeo and crew in-position."_

"And one more thing Otto, we have a prisoner."  
Cooney adjusted his grip on the limp wolf, and continued with Scott through the rattling corridors with their captive –the only prize from this mission...

-----

James McCloud dove through the circular opening in the blast-door and rolled onto his feet –still with Scott's impact-claymore. He activated the comm channel on his headset, and began to scan around the too-familiar mess of machinery...  
"Okay Pigma, I'm back in engineering, now where's this blown G-diffuser fuse?"

"_The main systems fusebox will be just off the reactor. It's about three feet long, the sucker you're looking for'll be clearly labeled 'G-Diff.', and shattered into a bunch'a tiny pieces –you can't miss it man."_

The fox followed the instructions, and quickly~  
"Found it!..."

The fuse assembly Pigma referred to was a set of heavy-duty electrical pylons with an empty clamp on the ends of both. It stood about a meter feet off the ground near the reactor-core against a wall. Many of the high-voltage fuses were still intact, but the one for the G-diffuser lay in a thousand tiny fragments on the floor...

James set the length of the claymore's blade between the empty clamps –pressing the weapon tight against the two massive electrical leads so it wouldn't slip...

"I'm all set..."  
He grimaced...  
"Now let her rip!"

"_Here goes nothin!..."_

The massive fusion reactor growled back into life, along with a lot of the other dated machinery in this ship –even the main lights came back. A few dangerous looking sparks began to arc along the sword's blade. One slip, and a discharge hefty enough to fry most small spacecraft would get loose in the room; what'd happen from there is anyone's guess...

In an instant, everything seemed to get heavier, as if a great weight was pressing down. The agonized screeches of peeling metal from within the ship were matched only the persevering roar of the reactor-core. For a space-vessel, this was something between the throes of death, and a last hurrah...

James could only hold the sword in it's place for dear life while the ship around him shook and buckled under the immense pressures...  
"Is it working!?"

"_Whoooo! Yeah!..." _  
Pigma's voice was so exhilarated, most would swear he was getting high off something other than pure adrenaline, and most would also be wrong...  
_"...Bettah than fucking Buttah, dude! Nothin but suh-weet daylight ahead! Fuck-Yeah!"_

Being the sensible one, Rachelle asked the sensible question...  
_"Where'd you pull this crazy idea from, Jamie?"_

Knowing this insane repair-job actually pulled-through allowed James to breathe a little easier, and he managed to answer...  
"Back when combustion-driven firearms were still popular, some people would use a bullet to replace a blown fuse in their car in a pinch..."

The blade slipped a little in the sprockets, and he adjusted his grip...  
"...Same concept here but, bigger fuse and a bigger 'bullet'."

* * *

Captain Otto Jäeger stood at the side of the Apeo's deck, and looked through the infamous gray mists of Zoness's fog, and over the gently undulating surface of the blue-green sea. The boat he had deployed for the team's extraction was gently bobbing in the water ahead at the ready, and all the crew patiently awaited their next command...

Excellent.  
A little unorthodox perhaps, but this was a most peculiar situation, and in a particularly unorthodox operation to begin with...

The waters ahead began to swell upward, accompanied by a deep, world-shaking rumble. The seawater began to spill away from the bulge, and the dark hull of the Cornerian prison ship emerged from the deathly grips of the ocean...

The salty otter simply watched, and waited. The crew had their orders, and the extraction boat was already slipping towards the barely-afloat behemoth. The four figtercraft from Star Fox also circled through the mists overhead, piloted by the stand-ins for now...

Within a few minutes, the extraction boat returned alongside the Apeo, and the first of the team ascended the ladder –Richard Cooney, and he was armed...

"Here's that prisoner I mentioned..."  
The wolf climbed over the railing and onto the deck, still a little dazed having just regained consciousness. Rick kept his blaster trained on the stumbling lupine prisoner...

"Then you may need these..."  
Captain Jäeger reached into his thick maritime coat, and presented the raccoon with a sturdy pair of handcuffs...

"You think of everything, Otto."  
Rick took the handcuffs and secured the nameless wolf's wrists together before he regained enough consciousness to try anything...

After a few minutes, the rest of Star Fox and Rachelle Cooney were safely on-deck.

Rachelle secured her gadget-laded satchel over her shoulder, and gave the group of four their send-off...  
"You all did good today. The stand-in pilots will soon be returning directly to this vessel. All you have to do now, is get back in your fighters and return the the pier as if nothing unusual happened –nothing outside the cover-story that is..."

Sure enough, the fighters overhead began to descend over the Apeo...

With the wolf secured into his handcuffs, Rick said his own farewell...  
"Now if you'll excuse us, our new friend here has a hot-date with the brig, and I wouldn't trust him for a second on his own, even with these handcuffs."

With that, Rick and Rachelle Cooney escorted their lupine prisoner into the inner decks of the Apeo...

This left team Star Fox was left with the captain –to whom Pigma Dengar eyed expectantly...  
"So, when do we get paid?"

It was a legitimate question for a mercenary, to which Captain Jäeger answered with a proper legitimacy of his own...  
"I've already had the credits transferred to your account, and I think you will find the sum to be more than satisfactory –you've earned it after all."

Peppy cocked an eyebrow...  
"Just like that?"

On the spacious rear deck of the Apeo; Fang, Thumper, Gizmo and Nessie all touched-down without a hitch...

Jäeger responded to Peppy's rhetorical question with a rhetorical answer...  
"Of course, and my colleagues are sure to learn what an outstanding job you all did in dispatching those troublesome ruffians. Excellent work, Star Fox..."  
Otto offered his hand, and a distinct wink.

James McCloud got it right away: cover-story, and played straight into it...  
"Always glad to be of help, Captain..."  
He and Jäeger exchanged a professional handshake...

Otto smiled at the young fox...  
"Don't let me keep you."

They released each-other's hands, and Team Star Fox departed along the deck for their fighters. As they drew further away, a comment from Pigma could be made-out...  
"Man, this Intelligence work is weird."

Peppy Hare replied, almost smartly, to the swine...  
"But on the bright side, it does pay well..."

Any further comments among the group went unheard as they passed out of earshot...

Captain Otto Jäeger looked back over the constantly changing surface of the sea. He watched as the harsh mistress of the ocean reclaimed the prison vessel in her watery grave –as the air-bubbles escaped the nooks and crannies deep within, and burst to the surface...  
The unlucky space-vessel died it's final death, and the remorseless ocean carried-on all the same...

The gentle noises of the sea were briefly overshadowed by the combined howls of multiple spacecraft thrusters. The four fighters of Star Fox shot-out over the ocean, safely out of her merciless clutches, and redirected their flight-path toward the mainland...

Otto watched them all fade into indistinguishable dots above the horizon, and uttered one final musing to himself...  
"I think they'll do alright..."


	14. Turning Wheels Turning Pages

_...He is a bird of bad moral character. He does not get his living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead tree near the river, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the fishing hawk; and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to his nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him. _

-Benjamin Franklin, a letter to his daughter regarding the Bald Eagle-

* * *

_**Turning Wheels, Turning Pages**_

--A few days have come and gone--

Lylat Union Congress was a collection of nearly a hundred members gathered in an expansive, amphitheater style hemicycle chamber. The attending figures spanned the length and breadth of the entire Lylat System, and each brought with them all the prospectives and baggage thereof. Some worlds held as many as a dozen seats while other, less populous planets, occupied only a few...

Dr. Enos Andross stood behind a podium at the center of the chamber as he presented his speech to Lylat's representatives...  
"...As you see, the treaty itself, however good or well-meant the intentions behind it were, is absolutely _riddled_ with loopholes, and has been exploited to no end. The abuses have even come to such a point, that the terms of the treaty are used to imprison, alienate, and disenfranchise innocent individuals, all in order to cover the blunders of nefarious activities associated with it..."

-

Senator Conrad Carrion sat at one of the desk-like benches in the back row, and watched the ape deliver his presentation. He'd occasionally rub his beak with an absentminded curiosity...

A familiar, but less nervous than usual voice broke this relative silence...  
"Did you write this speech for him?"

The avian politician offered a glance up to his old friend Oikonny before answering...  
"Not at all. Mr. Andross is improvising it all on his own, on the fly."

The silver haired monkey took a seat next to the eagle...  
"He's certainly doing well enough..."

"With that kind of oratory prowess, maybe _he_ should've gotten into politics, and _you_ into science."  
Carrion cocked an eyebrow and gave one of his barely-smiles...

Oikonny was quick to correct his colleague...  
"Now just because I have a vested interest in Lylat's scientific community doesn't~"

He cut off with a quick finger...  
"Hold that thought, I think he's wrapping-up..."  
...and returned his attention to Dr. Andross.

-

"...Therefore, I highly urge the good senators and delegates of Lylat Union Congress to reconsider the terms of this Sauria Treaty. Not another innocent soul should have to suffer through this poorly executed legislation, as I have, for someone else's greed. Thank you all for your time and consideration."

The ape stepped away from the podium and exited the debate hall in complete silence. It wasn't until after he'd left the chamber entirely that one of the senators spoke up...

"That treaty is designed for the benefit of the Saurian people, It's meant to allow them to integrate into our society on their terms~"

Another voice cut the first one off...  
"Oh come _on!_ We've had them living in their own little isolated bubble for decades now! It's time the Saurians all stepped up and joined this budding interstellar community of ours!"

The first speaker rebutted quickly...  
"These things take time. Besides, do you think they'd _want_ to join? look at us: squabbling amongst ourselves like children~"

The second speaker nearly shouted...  
"It's the complainers, like you, who keep us from getting anything done in this dump!"

"So I suppose we should all just do what you say and play along? Not in _my_ Union Congress..."

"Well maybe if certain individuals would quit using the old legislation to _wipe their asses with_..."

A timid third voice tried to insert itself between the two arguers...  
"Can we just get back to the Sauria Treaty?"

The debate floor degraded further into anarchy as multiple arguments began to spring-up across the congress chamber...

-

"Aren't you going to _do_ something about this?"  
Antonio Oikonny motioned out to the ensuing chaos.

"I'm doing it right now."  
The eagle didn't even turn to answer.

"Nothing?"

"Biding my time, Oikonny..."  
Senator Carrion leaned back in the chair and relaxed...  
"They can't keep this circus going for too long –eventually, all these attention whores are going to exhaust themselves blowing hot air in each other's faces. By the time I present them with a sensible compromise, both sides will be too worn-out to seriously object."

The thin ape took another nervous look into the disarrayed congressional debate floor...  
"It never got this bad in the Cornerian Parliament, even on our _worst_ days... You really think these buffoons will end-up siding with you and Enos on the Sauria Treaty?"

The eagle permitted himself the faintest of chuckles, and finally looked Oikonny in the face...  
"Figures elected into public office will generally follow their people, not the other way around. But also keep in-mind that anyone who can make a garden-variety politician angry is automatically popular with _someone..._ "

Conrad returned his attention to the front...  
"If Mr. Andross can ignite _this_ kind of uproar among the political windbags, then he's sure to have plenty of support behind him. I'd even go so far as to say: he just may have a promising public future ahead of him..."

The two politicians stood by, and watched as the legislative free-for-all unraveled before them...

* * *

The classroom was medium-sized and well equipped, but the projector screen in front was disproportionately large for a room this size. The screen showed a series of simple diagrams, along with not-so-simple explanations and captions...

An aging, mule-deer buck paced along the front of the room as he lectured to his pupils...  
"The plot and action structure of a screenplay can be divided into a series of separate significant events within the film, known as 'beats'. A related sequence will occur between each beat, and will also lead-up to the next beat point in the plot. In a dramatic film, a beat may be a protagonist's decision or significant revelation, whereas in an action film, these beat points are generally physical events. Because of this, a dramatic film will have fewer beats and longer sequences when compared to an action film..."

...on and on the instructor droned. It shouldn't be possible for any subject to seem this boring, especially a subject like Film Theory...

About two dozen students of varying ages and species sat behind one of the several college-style desks in the classroom. Most of the students had their notebooks out, and took notes on what the buck elaborated on in his monotonous drawl...

Vixy Reinard was not among 'most of the students'.

Although the vixen had her notebook open, the pages remained blank. Her pen rested motionless in one hand, and she used the other to prop-up her otherwise sagging head. Her eyes followed the instructor lazily, but she'd often steal a glance at the clock, the window, the open door, the other students~

She noticed something, and took a better look at the doorway...

No, her eyes weren't playing tricks on her –James McCloud was standing just outside. The russet furred fox was dressed in an open leather jacket, with his hands stuffed into the pockets of military-style trousers. His eyes bounced slowly back and forth, scanning the classroom...

Vixy tore her gaze from the door. Her bright copper fur stood on end, ears pricked up, and her heart-rate jumped. She drew a deep, nervous breath before she risked another glance out of the corner of her eye...

He'd spotted her. Jame's eyes were locked-on, and with a content eagerness behind them.

The vixen released an agitated sigh, and stashed her blank notebook into her backpack. She then quietly stood up out of her chair, and headed for the classroom's exit. Neither the instructor nor the other students payed much attention to Vixy's exodus –comings and goings of this kind were commonplace in a college setting...

She was barely out the door when James began...  
"I was a little surprised when the dean said they held classes in this studio~"

Vixy quietly closed the door behind her and adjusted the backpack on her shoulder...  
"What are you doing here?"

Her estranged demeanor and affronted tone caught James completely off guard. The mortified fox reeled and slowly backed off...  
"...Actually, on second though, this was a really bad idea so, I'm just going to leave now before I make things worse than I already have. Bye."

He turned on his heel and began toward a lobby or lounge area nearby.

The vixen slapped herself in the forehead.  
"James..."

He stopped.  
"What?"

Vixy approached him...  
"You didn't answer my question... What are you doing here?"

"I told you: it was a _bad idea._"  
And James started again for the lobby...

The vixen kept pace with him...  
"What was this 'bad idea'?"

The auburn fox released a defeated, groaning sigh, and turned to confront Vixy directly...  
"Look, I know exactly how this is going to work. It could get more complicated but, here's the basic breakdown of it: you're going to tell me how inconsiderate it is of me to visit you in the middle of your class, I'll say I'm sorry and I won't do it again, and then you'll tell me to take a hike..."  
He turned away, resuming his departure...  
"I'm just sparing us a whole lot of trouble by skipping ahead to the last part~"

Vixy planted a hand the fox's shoulder, ensnaring him before he got too far...  
"Hold it James, you can't just _skip_ an argument."

He turned again to face the vexed vixen...  
"Why not? It saves us both a lot of a lot of time, stress, and needless angst between us..."

"But that's like skipping to the last page of a book or..."  
She gesticulated fiercely as she explained...  
"You don't even know if it'd turn out the way you predicted!"

James folded his arms across his chest...  
"How _else_ could it have gone?"

Vixy considered his words for a second, then thumbed behind her toward the classroom...  
"The instructor back there is an absolute _dullard,_ and I can just get the notes from a classmate later. If you were going to ask me somewhere, I just might have said 'yes'."

He rolled his eyes...  
"And now you won't?"

She planted her hands on her hips...  
"Not until we get to the bottom of this whole presumptions and avoiding the argument complex you seem to be having~"

"How could I possibly be avoiding arguments?!..."  
James turned away, throwing his arms up, and stormed further into the lounge...  
"We're in the middle of one right now!"

"That's not the point!"  
The vixen followed after him...

"Alright already!..."  
James collapsed into one end of a couch...  
"You wanna talk about it so bad? Then let's talk –you and me, right here, right now."

He just sat there, waiting for Vixy Reinard to make her next move...

The copper furred vixen was suddenly at a loss for words. Not finding anything better to do, she set her backpack down, and eased herself onto the opposite end of the same couch. Neither she or James said anything for several seconds...

The awkward silence spanned between them like a canyon...

Finally, Vixy pulled her personal communicator out of a pocket and checked the time...  
"Do you want to do this over lunch or something?"  
She looked over to James for his answer...

He waited a few seconds, admiring the priceless, befuddled expression on Vixy Reinard's face...  
"Sounds great, I'm starved..."

The pair stood up from the couch and made their exit...

* * *

The room itself was bare of anything of major interest. The floors were of a thick tile, the walls and ceiling were of a heavily reinforced concrete –ventilation duct sealed off by a thick metal grate. The one door was a heavy one, made of steel and locked with bank vault style deadbolts. And the one window was of safety glass, closed-off by thick steel bars. The washroom accommodations were tucked into a corner behind a discrete plastic curtain, and a simple bed with built-in selves sat against another corner...

For a prison cell, It was exceptionally clean, comfortable, and secure beyond measure...

Laying on his back on the bed –a wolf, with a bleach-white fur tone, was the sole occupant of this room. His captors had provided this lupine prisoner with a set of plain white t-shirts, along with equally plain gray trousers without pockets...

The door clanked as the deadbolts released, and swung inward. The guards outside were disciplined, attentive, and well-trained in their craft –no point in trying to escape. The wolf just laid there on the bed, staring at the celling...

A raccoon in a simple dark suit stepped through the door. He carried a thin metallic briefcase with him...  
"Nice to see you settling in, so how was your first night here?"  
He punched a few keys on a wall-mounted panel, and the heavy vault door sealed shut behind him.

"Go to hell."  
The wolf hadn't moved.

"'Good morning' to you too, sunshine..."  
Rick crossed the room to the prisoners bedside, with a distinct metallic clack every other step against the hard tiles...

The wolf sat himself up as Cooney came closer...  
"What the fuck do want from me?"

The raccoon coolly set his briefcase on the bed and clicked it open...  
"For now, a sample of your blood..."  
He removed an empty medical syringe from the case and began to prepare it...  
"Can we do it the easy way? Or do I have to shoot you full of sedatives again?..."

The wolf extended his arm toward Rick, glaring as he did so...  
"Just get the stupid thing over with..."  
His words were just shy of a growl.

Rick stuck the needle into the white wolf's arm, and began to draw the dark red liquid into the syringe's transparent barrel...

"What kind of sick game do you think you're playing?"  
The lupine prisoner's glance shifted between the raccoon, and his own arm...

"I already told you: I'm only here for this blood sample..."  
He pulled the needle out of the prisoner's arm and rummaged through his briefcase again...

"No, I'm talking about this whole phony 'nice and friendly' act you're putting-on. Do you really think this will make me talk?"

Rick picked a tiny medical vial out of the case, and transferred the blood sample from the syringe to the vial...  
"What were you expecting? Interrogations? Drugs? Torture?"  
Rick placed the blood sample and empty syringe back into his briefcase...

The wolf rubbed his arm where the needle was...  
"Isn't that what you high-up government jackasses do to your prisoners?"

The raccoon gave a chuckle at his prisoner's comments...  
"You know, there's a funny thing about all those methods –they don't really work. Each requires an excess of effort and resources, the detainees are always uncooperative, and the information acquired by such means is hardly ever reliable..."  
He closed the case...

"But where are my manners? We haven't even been properly introduced yet –I'm Richard Cooney, and you are?..."  
He waited patiently the wolf's response, but all he got was the prisoner's iron glare...

The raccoon sighed lightly as he stood up...  
"I guess it doesn't matter whether you tell me your name or not –a DNA test for this blood sample should match an identity to your face anyw~"

The prisoner shot to his feet, fuming...  
"I am not going to be manipulated by your chintzy, fucking, _bullshit!~_"

_*Thunk*_

A swift, weighty kick in the pants from Rick's cybernetic prosthetic silenced the wolf, but only briefly...  
"_Er__ghh!!~_"  
He nearly collapsed in agony –one can only tolerate so much pain, so suddenly...

Rick seized the painfully reeling wolf by his shirt, and drew him within inches of his face –a face now chiseled by a hard, flinty expression with no hint of the raccoon's banterings before, and with a grim tone of voice to match it.  
"Then let me make one thing absolutely clear: I, the 'government jackass', am the one and only glimmer of hope you have left..."

Cooney dropped the lupine prisoner back onto the bed...  
"Pull that thick head out of your ass, and _look around..._ This isn't some run-of-the-mill criminal or military prison; this is Lylat Central Intelligence, _L.C.I._ There are no appeals courts, no inflated lawyers or bureaucrats to suck-up to, and no rules or regulations that I have to follow. No one is going to come to your rescue –whatever allies you have will assume you dead after the Zoness episode; and on top of that, I can personally guarantee that there aren't any clever tricks you can use to break-out of here by yourself."

Rick picked up his metallic briefcase, and gave the wolf a few final words...  
"Like it or not, sunshine: you're stuck here, and it could be for a very, very long time. I suggest you make yourself comfortable with that fact..."  
He turned away and headed for the exit –again, with an eerie metallic clack from one foot, and solid resounding step from the other. The raccoon made it all the way to the door mechanism when the prisoner finally spoke...

"Kishu..."

Rick stopped, and looked over his shoulder. He found the white wolf sitting hunched forward on the bed, staring into the floor. He still winced a little from his pain, but managed to speak easily enough...

"My name is Kishu."

The raccoon paused for a few moments, then pressed a few keys on the wall panel near the exit. The heavy vault door ratcheted opened again, allowing Cooney to pass through before it cranked shut –sealing Kishu alone in the holding cell once more...

* * *

James and Vixy took their outing to Lombardi's, right in the middle of a busy lunch-rush. Most of the tables were packed with hungry customers, and the kitchen in the back was firing at full-steam to keep up. The air inside was thick with the appetizing aroma of meats, cheeses, sauces and herbs; along with the clamor of a busy kitchen, and the cacophony of several conversations in the crowded dining hall, all being carried out-at once...

The vulpine pair had taken a small table against a wall, and each had a plate of pasta in front of them. Over the dull roar from the restaurant's many patrons, James McCloud concentrated on a discussion over his personal comm...  
"Okay, okay. Just uh, find out when their schedules will be open, and we'll hold a meeting over this with all of them..."

The fox gave his head a scratch as he listened...  
"I don't know, maybe the spaceport will let us have one of those snazzy conference rooms for a few hours..."

He leaned forward after hearing the response on the other end...  
"You know what? It's a heck of a lot better than holding a conference in that shack we're renting out back. So if it means better business relations in the future, then we _will_ pay for the room, by the hour, at that rate. Got it?..."

"Alright guys, I'll swing by in a few hours or so. We'll make this happen."  
James deactivated and pocketed his comm, and finally exhaled a sigh of relief...

Vixy looked up from her plate, concerned...  
"What was that all about? You almost sounded like one of my executive producers back at the studio."

The fox picked up his fork, and began gesturing with it...  
"It's crazy, Vixy. Ever since our last gig on Zoness, Star Fox has been getting all sorts of attention from prospective clients, folks who want our name and information in case they want to hire us. It's mostly private corporations and such, but a few law enforcement agencies are taking a look –we even got a call a from an arms and combat equipment company, hoping for some possible business with the team in the future."

Vixy finished chewing and swallowed a bite of the pasta...  
"That's great. If anyone at the studio ever got that much notice, they wouldn't have to worry about paying their bills for a long time."

James just stirred his fork through the food...  
"The whirlwinds of the business world weren't quite what I had in mind when I thought of mercenaries, and I'm still a little new at this messy management thing..."

The vixen reached across the table and took Jame's hand in hers –peering into his eyes reassuringly as she did...  
"Every business goes through a similar process. It doesn't matter if it's a restaurant like the one we're eating at, a broadcast studio like where I work, or a mercenary operation like yours. Of course it's tough work, but I think it suits you well. If anything, you're definitely ballsy enough for that kind of responsibility."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence but, who ever made _you_ the expert on management?"

She offered a smug little giggle...  
"You have _no_ idea just how competitive the film and broadcast industries get. If you aren't constantly on top of your game, then someone else is going to claw their way up and knock you off."

"It can't be all bad, at least you don't have to put your life on the line every time you go out in the field."

She shrugged...  
"Maybe not _every_ time, but that's what makes our jobs different –even if they do function pretty much the same underneath it all."

James took her other hand, and leaned in over the table...  
"Are you trying to describe some sort of nifty metaphor for our relationship? Because if you were, there _are_ easier ways to say 'I love you'..."  
He finished with a whimsical smirk on his vulpine face...

Vixy mirrored his actions, and his expression...  
"As cute as you are when you're completely clueless, I definitely like this smart-ass side of yours better."

The fox spoke softly and gave her a playful look...  
"No complaints here~"

"Hey!..."  
Giovanni Lombardi passed their table, balancing a precarious number of food-laden plates in his grasp. As he maneuvered his culinary load further through the dining hall, the avian restaurant owner snapped at the couple...  
"...Get a room, you two! I got customers here..."

Reluctantly, James McCloud and Vixy Reinard drifted away from each other, and returned their focus to the food in front of them...

* * *

Everything was shapeless, confused, chaotic...  
Then it took a discernible form...

There were three figures. A stalwart soldier stood on one side, a frightened youth on the other, and someone else... caught between the two...

Then they were gone. Two halves of a heavy blast door slammed into each other, sealing the threesome outside...

"What do you think you're doing?!"  
His voice was firm, but quaked with an underlying fear as he gripped the hostage tighter...

The ashen furred leopardess sneered at her captor over a shoulder...  
"Better to die, than to be a coward."  
Her words could have frozen fire...

_*beep* *beep* *beep*_

He looked down to where the noises came from...  
"No!~"

All was consumed by the blinding, white-hot inferno...

-----

"~No!"  
Scott Aberdeen sat bolt upright in his bed, panting heavily. His eyes were bloodshot and his ears stood at attention...

Just a dream...

The charcoal terrier relaxed a bit, and reached to his bedside table for his flask... empty. He slipped out of bed, grumbling some indiscernible curse under his breath, then pulled on a pair of pants and trudged into his kitchen with the empty flask in-hand.

Scott opened the refrigerator and searched through it for the tall bottle of whiskey, but it too was empty~

...mostly empty.

Instead of a liquid of any sort, there was a sheet of paper stuffed into the bottle with a small portion stuck out of the bottleneck. The terrier took the oddly placed vessel out of his fridge and gave it a suspicious, skeptical look. He waited several tense seconds –glancing hesitantly around, but always coming back to the tantalizing, taunting message left in his own liquor bottle...

Finally, his curiosity overcame his hesitation...

Scott pocketed his hip-flask, and extracted the paper from the whiskey bottle. He unrolled the sheet, took one look at its message, and froze in unbelieving shock. The empty glass bottle dropped from his hand, and shattered against the kitchen floor...


	15. The Same Cocky Daredevil

_Build me a son... who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid, one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory. _

-Douglas MacArthur, Former U.S. General-

* * *

_**The Same Cocky Daredevil**_

--Just over four years ago--

"And _that,_ kit-fox, is how you stand at attention..."  
The speaker was burly husky-type canine. Although his fur was primarily black, most of his face was a stark white with black around the eyes. He was dressed in a brown combat uniform, and wore a round, stiff-brimmed hat on his head...  
"Any questions?"

There must have been hundreds of them – individuals of all species, gender and background, and all still dressed in civilian clothing. They stood roughly at attention in several ranks and files on a cleared landing plot. Just in-front of the formation, an unmistakable pyramidal structure loomed over them all...

"Just one, Drill Sergeant..."  
A much younger, and much leaner James McCloud stood at the front of the formation.  
"How long do we have to stand here?"

The officer leered into James with a pair of electric blue eyes...  
"What's your name?"

"James McCloud."

The husky displayed a set of rank insignia on his sleeve...  
"You see these, McCloud?"

The fox nodded...

"These are _Captain's_ bars; as in Captain Sobak Soyuz, Fort Bierce instructional division..."  
He stepped away, and addressed the entire formation...  
"You are all to refer to me either as 'Sir', 'Captain', or 'Captain Soyuz'; not _'Drill Sergeant'_..."  
Soyuz shot his electric glare back toward James...

"Sorry Sir. It won't happen agai~"

The husky bore down over James...  
"Do I look like a 'sorry sir' to you?!"

James flinched away...  
"Not at all, Captain!"

Soyuz lingered over the startled fox for a moment, and stayed there until he had to address the entire formation once more...  
"Listen up, fresh-meat! The General of this outfit is gonna say a few words to you all! You are to give this man all the respect he deserves, and maybe he'll deign to return some of that respect in-kind..."

Behind the captain, a large doorway at the base of the pyramid opened up, and a few guards filed out...  
"Looks like he's on his way out now. Look sharp!"

Following the guards before, an immense polar bear dressed the crimson uniform of a Cornerian senior officer emerged from the building's entrance. The years dragged down on the bear's features, but his eyes still retained the solidity of soldiery, and his steps had none of the instability typical of advanced years...  
"Good afternoon, I am General Mikhail Vostok, the commanding officer here..."  
Without using a loudspeaker system or any audio enhancement, the general's bellowing voice resonated across the cleared landing plot under its own power...  
"Let me be the first to officially welcome you all to Hell, otherwise known as Fort Bierce, Katina."

A few snickers from the formation lingered over the bear's punchline.

"Make no mistake fresh Cadets: this _is_ Hell, and you _will_ be put through the very worst of it. While undergoing your respective training regimes, I expect and demand you all to find your limits, know your limits, reach your limits and before the end of it, I also expect and demand that you surpass and subsequently _expand_ those limits..."

General Vostok began to walk along the front of the formation, towering over many of those at attention...  
"Each and every one of you came from somewhere different. Many of you are from Corneria, a bunch over here from Macbeth, some from Zoness or Titania, others from Fortuna, Papetoon or Fichina. Or perhaps you're a local boy from right here on Katina. And if I remember right, at least a few of you are immigrants from far-away Sauria..."

He stopped for a moment...  
"Regardless, you are all _here..._"

The bear began pacing again...  
"Each and every one of you have come for different reasons. Maybe your home-world military has outsourced its training program to us. Maybe you're here to embellish your resume with our name. Maybe you genuinely want to be the best possible citizen you can be. Or maybe you're here just for the heck of it!..."

"Regardless, you are all _here..._"

"Each and every one of you will be going somewhere different when you're done. Maybe you'll be a tough, boots-on-the-ground infantryman. Maybe you'll fly high as a combat pilot. Maybe you'll bring hard justice to the masses through law enforcement. Maybe you'll sail the oceans in the planetary navies, or cruise between worlds in the space navies. Maybe you'll ascend to heights of command, or duck below into shadows of black-ops. Or maybe you'll work behind, to support those that need help up-front..."

"Regardless, you are all _here..._"

"There will not be any bad-mouthing between departments here like you may be used to back home. Any actual operation in the field is not divided into arbitrary military departments; Army, Navy, Marines, Flight Corps, Police Force –I could give a damn _less!_ For all the conceivable differences you can use to divide, segregate or push another brother-at-arms away, you cannot and _will _not forget that you are all united by the life you will be ready to place in harm's way at the defense of others'..."

"All of you –for the good, the bad, and the horribly ugly– are _here, _as Cadets of the 89th class of Fort Bierce; and doesn't get any easier. I hope you will find the courage to do what is required of you, or else you've chosen the wrong line of work..."

"I must leave you now in the care of Captain Soyuz."  
The general motioned toward the husky that scolded James earlier...  
"I understand there are some procedural details you must be informed of, and I have no intention of wasting your time... _Proshchánye!_..."

With his speech concluded, General Vostok turned away from the fresh cadets, and marched back into the main pyramidal building of Fort Bierce with guards in-tow...

"Don't any of you fresh-meat move a muscle!..."

Captain Soyuz took the place where the General stood before, where he took over the speaking bit...  
"_Very_ inspiring, isn't he? General Misha Vostok may be in charge this whole getup, but you're all gonna get pumped through basic training under _Me, _or one of the instructors under my command. Rest assured you will not be asked to do anything your superiors would not be willing to do themselves, but that doesn't mean you'll be getting any kind of smooth-ride... All I ask of you throughout this process, is that you to keep up with us... If you can't, then that strange sensation you'll feel in the seat of your pants, will be my boot up your ass!..."

The husky allowed a few seconds of silence for the joke, then got back to business...  
"You have _exactly_ one hour to report to requisitions; whereupon you will be issued your necessary equipment, assigned to a platoon for initial training, and your personal belongings placed into storage. From there, the rest of the Receiving Phase of basic training will begin..."

Captain Soyuz scanned the formation again...  
"Dismissed!"

* * *

_+++Transmission Encoded. Sent+++_

_+++Waiting…+++_

_+++Channel Open+++_

"_I thought you'd call~"_

"Remind me again, just how you managed to talk me into this."

"_Now Jim, you said you wanted to 'do something challenging' after cruising through high school. As far as I know, there is no form of higher education or occupational training in Lylat more 'challenging' than Katina's Fort Bierce Academy."_

"Geez Rick, I was being sarcastic. But how is this overblown Boot Camp going to help me out?"

"_If you tell people where to go, but not how to get there, you'll be amazed at the results."_

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"_Surprise me."_

_+++Transmission Terminated+++_

* * *

"...When ionized, the compounds of a plasma charge will undergo an extreme exothermic reaction. The compounds of an electron charge will produce a high-voltage static charge within the ionized substance..."

Captain Soyuz was at the front of a mostly bare classroom of sorts. The desks neatly arranged in even rows, and were all occupied by exactly twenty-five cadets, each dressed in identical uniforms...

The husky continued his "A shot of a plasma charge will burn, scald, cauterize or melt, depending on what the blast hits. The electrostatic discharge of an electron charge shot is nonlethal -causes muscle spasms- but will fry electronic equipment..."

Soyuz noticed one of the cadets in the back row was slumped forward...  
"_McCloud!_"

James flinched into an attentive position.  
"Sir!"

"Are you in good health, Cadet?"  
His voice was firm, feigning concern.

"Perfect, Captain."  
He froze at his desk, waiting...

Soyuz marched slowly to the back row of desks to where the fox sat...  
"Then repeat to the platoon what I just said..."

"You were telling us the difference between a regular blaster charge and and electron charge, Captain. One burns, the other shocks..."

The husky stood over James for a few seconds longer, then finally responded...  
"When you really _are_ paying attention to what I say, McCloud, try to save us all some time and _look_ like it..."

"Yes Sir. Won't happen again Sir."

The vulpine cadet released a sigh of relief as Captain Soyuz returned to the front...

"Projectile ammunition comes in two main varieties: externally driven -such as a railgun, or a sniper slug- and internally driven -like a shotgun cartridge, or a combustion bullet...

* * *

An alarm sounded, signaling the end of the firing sequence.

It was an outdoor shooting range. The open field was clear of obstructions, save for the artificial hill at the far end to keep stray shots from escaping. At the near side of the field were twenty five firing positions, each marked by a small concrete block with a number engraved it, and each with a cadet standing in position at one. The standard service assault-rifle was set aside for the time being as the cadets received instruction and evaluation on their sidearm technique...

James McCloud stood at firing position number 23 with a smoking blaster pistol in his hand. He brought the weapon down and reactivated the safety, cursing under his breath as he did...

"What happened, McCloud?..."  
A slender cheetah in an instructor's uniform stood behind James.  
"You were sinking straight bullseyes with your rifle, but the second you wrapped your hands around a sidearm, you choked..."

The fox shook his head, disgusted at his poor performance...  
"I... I don't know. The little bastard just won't shoot straight..."  
He ejected the spent charge from his blaster...

The feline marksman instructor came to Jame's side, and offered his own assessment...  
"You know what _I_ think is going on? I think you're trying to treat that handgun like it's your service rifle..."

James dropped his handgun into his holster...  
"Shouldn't all weapons be treated similarly?"

"Never."  
He bent down and picked Jame's discarded blaster charge from the ground...  
"Your assault rife and your handgun are two completely different animals. The rifle packs one heck of a wallop and sends plenty of fire downrange, but it's cumbersome and clumsy in close or confined quarters. The pistol on the other hand is a fast-reaction weapon – what it lacks in power and accuracy at a distance, it makes up for with speed and flexibility. In the blink of an eye, you have to be ready to point that little sucker in any direction, knock off a shot, and then be ready to do it all again the next instant."

"Okay, I get it. So what am I doing wrong? And what can I do to fix it?"  
The fox pulled his pistol back out of its holster, and waited...

"Not much: your stance and grip are golden, but you were in the wrong firing position for pistol handling."  
The instructor drew his own blaster to demonstrate...  
"The handgun doesn't have a stock, so you need to keep your strong arm mostly extended to absorb the recoil. Other than that, it's just like shooting a rifle – all the other rules of marksmanship still apply..."

"Grip the weapon with a firm handshake, line up front and rear sights, finger poised on the trigger..."  
James adjusted his firing position according to the instructors orders – aiming downrange and mirroring the cheetah...

The marksman instructor ejected the charge from his own handgun...  
"I think you deserve another round, McCloud. here's a fresh charge..."

The fox accepted the fresh charge and swapped it into his blaster. Once locked and loaded, he cocked the weapon and aimed downrange – now with his stance adjusted properly...  
"Going hot!"

A quick blare of the alarm over a loudspeaker signaled the start of the firing sequence.

Several holographic targets materialized throughout the outdoor shooting range – all scattered unevenly, but close. James lined-up his sights and picked off each one as it appeared in quick succession, not unlike many arcade games. Each shot he fired found its mark, indicated by the green flash of the target before it disappeared...

The alarm blared again, signaling the end of the round.

"That's the way to do it, McCloud!"

* * *

The chamber was filled with the fumes of a wispy white smoke that obscured nearly everything. One thing that was certain was that everyone of the cadets in the chamber was wearing a compact respirator mask over their face to block-out the fumes...

A voice crackled through a speaker in the gas filled chamber..._  
"Well I'll be... looks like you all managed to secure your gas masks right the first time. There's just one more little detail: you're each going to get a little exposure time with the gas. Don't you worry – it ain't toxic, but it'll still mess you up nice and good. If any one of you try to bug-out before my say so, we'll all do this again until you get it right. Understood?"_

Muffled by their masks, the entire platoon responded in unison...  
"Yes, Sir!"

"_McCloud, you're up!" _

Barely recognizable behind the respirator mask, James stood in the middle of the chamber with the rest of his masked platoon-mates circling him...

"_Take the mask off..." _

The fox reached behind his head to undo the mask's strap, and let itslip from his face...

"Agh!..."  
It burned...

Everything burned like a bitch. The eyes, the nose, the throat; every sensitive nerve in Jame's body told him he was being torched alive. Tears ran out of his eyes in thick streams, forcing them shut, and a runny mucous began to drip from his nose...

Though blinded with his eyes closed, James could still hear the instructor give him instructions over the intercom...  
_"Name..."_

"McCloud, James!"  
Opening his mouth to speak made it all worse. The gas seeped in, burning the inside of his throat and lungs...

"_Hometown..."_

A violent bout of coughs overcame the fox, but he still pressed on...  
"...Corneria City... Corneria!"

"_What did you have for breakfast today?"_

James wavered a bit, the gas was beginning to make him dizzy and disoriented...  
"Huh?!"

"_Answer the question..."_

The fox steadied himself, and took one final wheezing gasp of breath to stammer out a reply.  
"That con... concrete _s- s- slop_ the mess... always serves for mor... morning chow!"  
James felt the the acidic sting of bile in the back of his throat...

"_Eh... close enough. Get outta there, McCloud! And get some fresh air!" _

The fox opened his bloodshot eyes to look for the exit, but everything was a blur. He could barely make out the figures of his platoon-mates cheering him on. All he knew was to get to the exit – so distant now, even if it was only twenty feet... Against his failing body and failing mind, James McCloud mustered strength enough to drive his legs underneath him...

He staggered across the fume saturated chamber toward the exit, occasionally helped by a platoon-mate when he veered off course, but otherwise entirely under his own power. After several seconds of almost-stumbling across the chamber, the door slid to the side, and James dove through to safety...

* * *

The steady, comforting rumble of the engines ceased, and most of the lights in the cockpit went dim....

"_Shhhit..._"

James McCloud was at the controls of a fightercraft trainer. His flight instructor, a swallow with deep indigo plumage, occupied the tandem seat just behind. They were high in the upper atmosphere of Katina, where the blue sky and the black of space were nearly seamless. The trainer was still gaining a little altitude, but only from sheer momentum...

The avian flight instructor stated the obvious...  
"McCloud, we've lost power~"

"I know!..."  
The fox quickly ran through his instruments...  
"The reactor's dead... no backup... We're down to just the emergency power cells..."

"Can you get the G-diffuser online, Cadet?"

The craft's ascent crested, and seemed to hang in the air for an instant...

"It wouldn't do any good. There's not enough juice to stop or slow us down – we'd use up the cells almost instantly. Same goes for thrusters..."

The trainer-craft began to slide downward through the air...

"Then there's nothing for it. I'm gonna bail us out~"

"If you bail now, you'll kill us! The thin air outside is gonna knock us unconscious, and we won't be able to pull our parachute ripcords~"

"And if we bail out too late, the impact of ejection at high speed will kill us anyway!"  
The avian instructor leaned over Jame's pilot seat...  
"We are going to take our chances with thin air... and that's an _order,_ McCloud."

The craft picked-up some speed...

"No..."  
James took a firm hold of the trainer craft's control stick, pushing it forward so the nose pointed down...  
"I have an idea~"

"We are dropping like a goddamn _brick!_ We do _not_ have time for mid-fucking-flight repairs!"

The craft began to shake in the turbulence as they gained greater velocity, and the air gradually became more dense...

"You're right, we don't..."  
With one hand on the control column and the other inputting commands into the on-board flight computer, the vulpine pilot elaborated further...  
"I'm redistributing whatever power is left to the air breaks and maneuvering flaps. It'll be rough, but I should be able to glide this bird into an emergency landing~"

"You are out-of-line, Cadet! This is _insubordination!_"

For only a moment, James stopped his tinkering, and confronted his superior...  
"Frankly Sir, between what few options we have left, which do _you_ think has the least slim of chances?..."

They picked up even more speed, and the buckling only became more violent during their stony silence...

The swallow looked outside, considered the options, and finally sided with the cadet...  
"I'll tell ground-control what's happening, but this had better work..."  
He checked his instruments...  
"Scratch that, comm's out too."

"I took all those peripherals offline to conserve energy – we'll need every scrap of electrical power we've got to bring us down in one piece. You can always chat it up with command when we're _not_ in deadly peril..."  
Almost as an afterthought...  
"...Sir."

The trainer-craft continued on a downward dive toward the distant surface, buffeting more and more violently as the air became denser. Gently, James began to pull the control stick back. The plummeting craft shook even more, protesting the change in direction with every creaking, twisting squeal of distressed machinery imaginable...

"Eeeasy, McCloud... these simple trainers weren't made for extremes like this, and you _really_ don't want the airflow control surfaces ripping themselves clean-off..."

"I know what I'm doing..."

The parched planet surface kept rising, and James kept pulling the trainer-craft's nose up toward the horizon. The instructor watched out of the canopy in horror as the dusty ground rushed past underneath, and getting closer...

"McCloud... air brakes..."

Faster...

"They'll get shredded at this speed, and we'll plow straight into the ground!"

_Closer..._

"If you brake _now,_ we can still bail-out!"

_Faster..._

"_No!_ We're going too fast! I've gotta pull her up!"

The flat landscape just below was nothing but a tan blur at their velocity, and the trainer was practically shaking itself to pieces...

"It's not enough, McCloud... _It's_ _not enough!..._ We, are, _dead!... _And it's all thanks to _YOU!~_"

The ground was rising up from below to pulverize them...

"_Bullshit, Sir!!_"

James yanked the control stick back as far as it would go. The nose jerked above the horizon, but they still careened toward the ground at a low angle. The phenomenal g-forces crushed the pilot and flight instructor into their seats, and the trainer-craft nearly came apart at the seams. The vulpine pilot checked how much power was left, and decided to risk it.  
He fired a single burst of the craft's thrusters...

This would be cutting it _way _too close...  
But it was enough.

The trainer jerked forward a bit from the thrusters, finally gaining some altitude. The slight ascent slowed them down, and the shaking eased-up as the velocity was reduced below suicidal levels...  
There was no way to know just how close they came – maybe it was better not to know...

James still panted heavily, and his heart still raced with leftover adrenaline...  
"I'm... I'm putting the air-brakes on now..."

The trainer-craft flinched at the shock of the air brakes, but wasn't threatening to go to pieces like before. The fox balanced the brakes along with stabilizers and maneuvering flaps in a battle against the craft's forward momentum. He was going to make this emergency landing as smooth as possible...

"Do you still wanna bail out, Sir?"

The avian flight instructor was similar state of shocked relief, and could care less...  
"Just set her down nice and easy and be done with it."

The trainer steadily slowed down and descended over Katina's surface under Jame's control...  
"Brace for impact?..."

The swallow lazily assumed the proper 'crash' position...  
"Sure, whatever..."

-

* * *

-

The door slid cleanly into the wall, revealing the interior of a military office. The walls were neatly decorated with typical military memorabilia; antique weaponry, older photographs, and a few other odds and ends. A plain sturdy desk faced the hallway entrance, and stood in front of a large window with another door to an outer terrace. The desk itself was cluttered with a variety of personal affects, and an older model of computer monitor on one side...

James McCloud stepped through the doorway, and waited for it to slide back into place...  
"You wanted to see me, Colonel?"

A pair of dark brown rabbit's ears twitched over the top of the computer monitor.  
"Quit standing at attention son, you look stiffer than dang plank of hardwood..."  
The wizened face of Pete peered out from behind his computing terminal...  
"At ease, and take a seat."

As ordered, James relaxed his stance and sat in the metal folding-chair near the Colonel's desk...

Pete took another look at his computer screen...  
"I'm looking at your transcript over the past few years, as well as your planned courses for this year... and to be honest, I don't know _what_ kind of cadet I'm looking at."

"Sir?"

"Don't call me that..."  
He slid his desk-chair out from behind and to the side the monitor to make better eye-contact...  
"You're one of the absolute most gifted combat pilots that ever came through this joint, but your focus is scattered, all over the place..."

The elder rabbit turned the computer monitor toward him...  
"You were a little shaky in basic, but everyone is, that's the point... Along with the extensive flight-combat training and related courses plus a tour of duty on the McGarret's fighter wing as expected, you also took some _very _advanced combat and weapons training, criminology, paramilitary, a basic mechanical course, some other training programs and this year, you're signed up for the academy's intensive three-month _Ranger School..._"

"And?"

Pete turned away from the screen and focused on the cadet in his office...  
"Do you have _any_ idea how tough that son-of-a-bitch is? What it can _do_ to a guy?"

James nodded indifferently...  
"I've heard about it, and the intensity one of the reasons I want to go through with it."

"But you hardly even _need _it. We've never had a dedicated flight-combat cadet enrolled in the Ranger Program before..."  
He looked over the computer screen again...  
"Come to think of it, you don't really need any of these extra courses you take. So I've just got to ask you: Why?"  
The elder rabbit folded his hands together on his desk, and sent a steady gaze across to await his answer...

The fox's eye's shifted around the room as he began his explanation...  
"A guy wants to be an elite marine: he fully commits himself that single goal. A guy wants to be a top-notch cop: same as before. It's the same story everywhere I look in this place. The cadets here are all picking single individual slots in a big machine, and they're dedicating themselves to the perfection of that single position to the exclusion of all others. They won't be interchangeable; they'll _only_ be the best marine, or _only _the best cop, or _only_ the best combat pilot..."

James set his own hand on the desk, and returned Pete's patient stare...  
"I don't want to be a one-trick-pony. If I have to get out of the cockpit and fight, I don't want to be stuck up a creek without a paddle. I'd like to be _more_ than just a single gear in a larger military machine. I'd like to be able to hold my own and stand my ground with the best of them, no matter what situation I find myself in. _That's_ why I take so many 'unnecessary courses' like the Ranger Program."

The muddy-furred Colonel just sat there, drumming his fingers against the desk for a few moments until he finally spoke-up...  
"Truth is, I didn't call you here to bug you about your courses. That's _your_ decision to make, not mine... There's something pretty important we gotta discuss, just between us..."

James pulled the chair he was sitting in a little closer...  
"I'm listening."

"A talent scout for the Cornerian Army's Dagger unit is going to come by this week, like they do every year~"

"_The_ Dagger unit? That black-ops legend we keep hearing whispers about?"

"Yeah, _them._ Dagger comes here to the academy once a year to scout for potential new operatives in the graduating class. The other advisers and I would each select a few cadets for recommendation, the Dagger scout arranges an interview and possibly some other sort of evaluation before their final decision, yadda yadda... You get the point..."

The Colonel drew a slow breath...  
"Personally, I think you'd fit right in with these Dagger folk like a glove."

The fox's steel blue eyes lit up at the prospect...  
"You're going to recommend me?"

"No, I'm not..."  
Before James had the chance to ask 'why?' Pete was already on the next point...  
"It's _because_ you'd fit-in so well that I don't want you anywhere near these guys, _ever._ In fact, you might be better off staying away from military service altogether..."

The fox picked a spot on the wall and stared at it...  
"I don't get it."

"If you were _anybody_ else, under _any_ other circumstances, I'd have you at the top of my very short list to recommend for Dagger. But... knowing what you might be doing... I just wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

James shook his head, more from confusion than disagreement...  
"What circumstances? What might I be doing?..."  
He leaned over the desk...  
"If I'd do so well in Dagger, then what's to stop me from from getting in mysel~?"

"Will you shut up and _listen?!_"

Pete froze for a second, then sank back into his chair to composed himself. It was a few quite seconds before he was up to speaking again...  
"Ricky and Rache, your legal guardians, you know what they do for a living?"

"Rick's in the Union Congress Secret Service, follows government VIPs around and makes sure they're safe. Rachelle is a freelance mechanic and technician, real handy with a computer..."  
James looked to the Elder rabbit...  
"Why?"

Pete extracted his wallet from a back pocket and began to thumb through it...  
"I'm gonna show you something that only a select few have ever seen in this office..."  
After finding what he was searching for, the rabbit removed an ID card from a hidden flap to show James...

The fox's eyebrows raised up in astonishment when he saw what that card meant...  
"So, you're with LCI..."

"Yep, Lylat Central Intelligence: biggest keeper of dirty little secrets and skeleton-filled closets in the whole stinking system. Spymaster Peter Cotton at your service..."  
He replaced his LCI card before continuing on...  
"Richard and Rachelle Cooney are some of my finest covert agents, had them officially recruited into my chapter shortly after they adopted you. The Secret Service and freelance technician gig is just their cover."

James' head was swimming with questions, but he only asked one...  
"Why didn't they tell me about this arrangement before?"

Pete rolled his eyes...  
"There's a _lot_ of reasons, and I'm not gonna bother explaining them, covert-ops you know..."

"Yeah, I guess..."

The elder rabbit got back on track...  
"Anyway... Thing is... I've known you ever since you was a little guy... you're practically _family_ to me... Ah screw it, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it. LCI has found within the Cornerian Army, that there are... some very deep, very dirty secrets..."  
The rabbit leaned over the desk and hushed his voice...  
"Don't get me wrong; a vast majority of the Army is _spotless..._ But the deeds some of them have done, the backs they've stabbed, the throats they've cut... and all in the name of 'keeping us safe'... I... I cant risk you getting caught-up in that."

Out of a worried curiosity, James asked the natural question...  
"What's the Army doing?~"

Pete slammed his fist into on the desk, causing a few items to jump from the impact...  
"Do _not_ ask questions that I can't answer! Believe me, you're better off not knowing anything about _anything_, and I may have said too much already... For the love of Lylat _please,_ just promise you won't enlist."

"But I~"

Colonel Peter Cotton stood up, and assumed the commanding demeanor that his rank required...  
"As your superior officer! I _order_ you, Cadet James McCloud, to make up some phony excuse as to why you will not enlist in the Cornerian Army or any other major planetary military!"

The fox racked his brain for something satisfactory...  
"I won't enlist because... Peppy said the Army is a bunch of inflated nut-jobs?..."

"Perfect! He feels that way anyway..."  
Pete sat back down, tired and exhausted from something other than physical fatigue...  
"I'm... really glad we had this conversation. You can go now, and I wish you the best of luck with that Ranger School..."

Without a word, James stood from the chair, and backed to the office's door, which slid open as he approached. The fox exited the office of Colonel Peter Cotton confused, concerned, and racing with questions that couldn't be answered...


	16. Haunted by Doubt

_Important Notice:_  
For those who have already read this chapters before, I have done some major editing.  
Chapters 16 and 17 have been trimmed and merged into a single chapter. Most of the removed content will reappear in later chapters after further editing.  
Sorry for any inconvenience. I felt this had to be done for structural purposes, and I believe it is for the better.

* * *

_**Haunted by Doubt**_

It looked something like a spaceport terminal, or possibly a shopping mall, but much grittier. Many of those walking were openly armed, and it didn't seem to bother anyone. The wide open corridors have probably seen better days – the floors were worn smooth in many places, and the walls were lightly damaged here and there. Yet despite the beaten exterior, all the lights, doors and other essential mechanisms worked flawlessly...

"My policy of no fighting on this station means: _No Fighting..._"  
An older bighorn ram dragged an unruly feline patron, by the scruff of his neck, out the entrance of one of the bars...  
"You got that, punk?..."  
The ram had a fur tone of sepia brown with white at the end of his nose. He wore a rough denim vest that exposed his powerful arms, and a flame patterned bandanna over the curled horns on his head.

The unruly patron was a scrawny dark gray cat with a 'tattoo' on his forehead dyed to resemble a lightning strike. The only notable item of clothing he wore was a leather vest with a series of patches sewn into it.  
"What good is a 'no fighting' rule if you let everyone walk around armed?"

The ram chuckled at this question...  
"For one thing, only a complete _idiot_ like you is gonna pick a fight when every innocent bystander in the joint is packing heat. Consider yourself lucky you weren't shot dead right there – I think they pitied you..."  
He shoved the slate gray cat against a nearby wall...  
"You wanna know _why _folks come to Sargasso? They come here so they can relax, throw back a drink or two, catch the latest buzz, and recoup. My patrons come here so they can -for once- enjoy all the comforts of a home without having to constantly watch their backs – that's _my_ job. It's tricky enough for me to juggle all these shady types coming through Sargasso, so the _last_ thing I need is for my station to become a battlefield for your petty gang wars..."  
He fished a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket and removed one of the tobacco filled cylinders.

The feline gangster gathered what was left of his dignity, and rebuked against the stationmaster...  
"The turf wars between the Chaosled and our rivals are _anything_ but petty! If we meet a sworn enemy, we're duty-bound to send their boys a message of warning through force."

The ram just stood there with the cigarette in his mouth as he found his lighter; barely listening...  
"The Chaosled, huh?..."  
He fired-up the tiny blue flame of his lighter, lit the cigarette, and took a deep lungful of the fumes...  
"...You wanna know something? That spacer-club's president of yours is a regular visitor to this station. He'd often bring a great big party, rent one of the nicer suites, treat his buddies to a keg of beer for the night, and basically have one hell of a good time. I think he'd be more than a little disappointed if he found out he and his gang weren't welcome at their favorite hangout..."

The fear behind the cat's darting eyes was unmistakable...  
"You wouldn't dare~"

The ram grabbed the young gang member by an arm and led him through the corridors...  
"Yes, I would. Now you can either settle down and play nice with the other kids, or I can call-up your boss and tell him exactly why he's not allowed on this station anymore, and who's responsible. I trust he'll dole-out the proper discipline among _prospective _members..."

"What do you mean 'prospective member'?"

The stationmaster twisted the cat around to expose his back, along with a set gang patches...  
"Your vest, kid. You ain't wearing the Full-Patch set: no 'top rocker'. Only full members of the Chaosled are allowed to wear the 'top rocker' patch..."  
He shoved the feline delinquent away...  
"Your president fully respects my no fighting policy here on Sargasso. And if you ever want to become a Full-Patch member of your precious spacer-gang, then you'll have to respect your president and -by extension- my policies..."

The ram sucked down another lung's worth from the cigarette, and puffed a small cloud through his nostrils...  
"Sargasso station isn't your or any other gang's 'turf'; it's _my_ turf. And if I hear you're causing trouble again, I'd be more than happy to escort your twiggy, puffed up, hairball-hacking ass out the nearest airlock. Now get out of my face."

The startled gray cat was speechless. He backed off for a few feet, slowly, until the burly stationmaster shot a threatening look his way. The young gangster flinched, and bolted away through the open corridors of Sargasso Station. His figure soon became lost among the faceless variety of other pedestrians in the crowd, leaving the ram to his own devices...

"Kids these days..."  
He flung the butt of his spent cigarette to the hard metal floor and crushed it under his boot...

Behind him, a woman's voice cut through the background clamor...  
"You must be Dennis Aries, stationmaster of Sargasso..."

"What do you want, lady?~"  
The ram turned to face the voice, and found the woman to be a wolf with a silver-gray fur tone, but with a large patch of white around her muzzle. She wore tight jeans and a dark red crop-top shirt that revealed her midriff. She carried a duffel bag in one arm, and an infant pup in a simple sling made from a blanket...  
"And what's with the _kid?!_"

"The name's Carmen O'Donnell, I'm here for the job, and the kid is my son. You got a problem with that?"  
Carmen caressed the tiny pup's head, which held a striking resemblance to his mother...

"As a matter of fact, I _do_ have a problem with that. Sargasso is _no_ day-care, and _no_ place for little suckling tykes like~"  
Dennis caught himself...  
"What job?"

In his sleep, the lupine infant gently gripped one of his mothers fingers...  
"There's a diner on this station, 'The Butcher-Block'. A waitress was badly injured on the job recently, and she had to quit. I also hear the the Butcher Block's manager is having trouble filling the position."

"Yeah, nobody wants that job now..."  
The sepia bighorn cocked an eyebrow, intrigued...  
"How did you know about Sheryl? That was supposed to be all hushed-up."

Carmen shrugged.  
"Certain men will say certain things in the heat of the moment..."

"You don't mean...?"

"I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

"Right..."  
Dennis took the hint, and fingered his chin hair thoughtfully.  
"So you're sure you want a job _here?_ On _this_ station? With that little tyke of yours in tow?"

"Yes, I'd like a job... The staff on this station are paid triple the equivalent wages anywhere else, and I could _really_ use money like that right now~"  
Carmen's infant son let out the tiniest of whines. She interrupted her small speech to comfort the little pup in her sling, holding him tighter and whispering softly to him...

"It's hazard pay, no one wants to risk life and limb working on this rough dump for anything less..."  
Dennis leaned in to get a better look at the resting pup.  
"I gotta hand it to ya, this little tyke of yours is kinda cute... What's his name anyway?"

"Wolfgang, or just Wolf for short."  
She gently stroked the sleeping infant behind his ears.

"_Wolf O'Donnell..._"  
The ram chewed on the name for a few seconds, getting a feel for it.  
"Sorta unoriginal, but it's got a real nice ring to it."

"It's only a name."  
Carmen looked back up with a quiet determination behind her relaxed demeanor.  
"Let's just skip down to the bottom-line Denny. I _need_ more money to support my son, the Butcher Block _needs_ someone to fill it's vacancy; it's a perfect match. So what if this station is kind of rough around the edges? It is still one hell of a lot safer than where I'd be going back to..."  
She looked down at her child, fast asleep in the sling.  
"I will _not_ abandon my son the way his deadbeat father abandoned me. Whatever it takes, Wolf O'Donnell _will_ live to see himself grow up."

Stationmaster Dennis Aries did not change is expression, staying silent for a few seconds longer as he considered the circumstances.  
"Okay..."  
He drew a deep breath.  
"I just need to know one thing, Carmen."

"Name it."

The ram twisted the longer hairs on his chin for a few moments...  
"As safe as Sargasso generally is, we get a bunch of tough customers passing through the station – heck, the lady you'd be replacing was stuck with _knife. _I gotta know if you can be on top of those hairy situations, for the little tyke's sake at least."

Carmen replied with a little smile...  
"Tough customers are my specialty."

"That's good to hear. I'll set up an interview with Zeke or something, but I think you're pretty much in the clear. Come on, let me show you around the place..."  
Dennis started along the wide open corridors, and motioned for Carmen to follow him.

-

* * *

-

The Butcher-Block diner on Sargasso was empty. Most customers typically showed up a few hours after opening for breakfast, or a quick-fix for a hangover. Like the rest of Sargasso station, the Butcher-Block was worn-down, battered; but still fully functional and reasonably clean underneath the rough exterior...

Rachelle Cooney sat alone at one of the otherwise empty booths. The raccoon was dressed in her usual masculine technician's attire, and had a laptop computer open on the table.

"Network access is for paying customers only..."

Rachelle looked away from her computer to find Carmen O'Donnell standing over the booth. She wore a waist-down apron typical of wait-staff, and held a pen and pad ready to take an order.  
"What I can get for you, sister?"

"I don't think I'm ready to order just yet, but a glass of water and some information on this gentleman would be great to start-off with."  
Rachelle turned her laptop so the lupine waitress could see it.

The screen showed an image of a bleach-white wolf known to the Cooneys only as 'Kishu'. He looked restless in the image, as if he would rather be anywhere other than where he was...

Carmen froze when she saw it; speechless.

Rachelle spoke in a hushed voice so she wouldn't be overheard.  
"According to the DNA test Miss O'Donnell, this guy fathered your child. Trouble is, that's pretty much _all_ I know about him. I was hoping you could fill me in on some of the finer details, if that's alright with you."

The lupine waitress was still at a loss for words, and only managed a simple question.  
"Who _are_ you?"

"I just want to help, and I'd be willing to leave a generous tip if you could answer a few questions..."  
The Cooney sister produced a thick stack of paper credit-notes from one of her many pockets, and set the hard cash on the table...

Carmen's gaze bounced between the cash, Rachelle, the image of Kishu on the laptop, and back again – until she finally called out toward the diner's kitchen.  
"Hey Zeke! Do you mind if I take a break?!"

A scruffy, guttural voice responded from the dormant kitchen...  
"Sure, take your time Carma! It ain't like we're busting with hungry customers or nothing!"

"Thanks, Zeke!"  
She stowed her pen and pad into an apron pocket, and sat down in the booth across from the raccoon.  
"If you want info, then the glass of water will have to wait."

Rachelle picked a few high-denomination paper bills off the top of her money stack and passed them across the table.  
"I think I'll live."

Carmen O'Donnell took the money, and carefully examined each credit-note for counterfeits.  
"So, what do you want to know about that lousy, rotten, worthless son-of-a-bitch?"

-

* * *

-

The arrow-straight corridor was a sterile, indestructible square tunnel of a polished concrete floor, blank white walls, and a ceiling interspersed with simple lighting fixtures every ten feet or so. Everything was made rigid, uniform, clean; but most of all, everything was made meticulously secure.

Two figures walked side-by-side through this corridor. One was a large cream colored mastiff-type canine with black around his face. He was dressed in the navy blue uniform of a prison officer reinforced with a flex-armor vest. The other was a comparatively small raccoon wearing a conservative black suit and tie, dark wire-framed glasses, and an in-ear headset typical of an intelligence agent. Richard Cooney also carried a thin metallic briefcase with him, and wore matching shoes – though if one looked closely enough, they may catch a glimpse of a more discrete prosthetic.

The mastiff began with a question.  
"Are you sure you don't want to hand this inmate off to one of our in-house interrogators? I'd bet intelligence has more field work out there you could be doing."

"I appreciate your concern, Chief Westgort, but that won't be necessary."  
LCI agent Cooney kept a cold, emotionless demeanor behind the black lenses of his glasses, and his words were spoken in steady matter-of-fact tones.  
"You may be in-charge of this prison, but inmate 086 is _my_ responsibility, and I've been given authorization to use whatever means that _I_ see fit to question him. All I need from you and your staff is to keep him secure, keep him healthy, and perform any procedures I require – no questions asked."

"Hey my good man, there's no need to get your tux tangled in a bunch. We have your guy all setup for the interrogation, just like you ordered... Here's the place."  
The raccoon and mastiff stopped outside a plain metal door nestled into the blank white wall. The room's entrance was flanked by a pair of statuesque canine prison guards – both equipped with full riot gear and keeping diligent watch over this single door.

Chief Westgort motioned to one of the guards.  
"Open her up, Agent Cooney is gonna interrogate this guy."

"Yes sir."  
The guard entered the security-code on a wall panel by the entrance, and the door slid open.

"Thank you Chief..."  
Rick was about to enter the room when he stopped himself.  
"Just one last thing. There's no need for you to keep a record of this interview, so you can lose the bugs you've placed in the room."

"But how?~"

"I will be recording the session myself..."  
The raccoon removed the dark glasses from his eyes and presented the back of the lenses to Chief Westgort. There was a minuscule head-up display integrated directly into the glasses, and it was currently formatted for A/V recording.  
"When Intelligence says something is 'off the record', that means it is _off the record. _If you're so compelled to disregard my request by snooping around that which doesn't concern you, then I'll simply have the recording devices deactivated for you, and I'll be sure to file a report detailing your non-compliance with an agent of Central Intelligence. I don't need to remind you how much your colleagues value this position of Chief Warden you have here, or how willing any of them would be to replace you..."  
He replaced the glasses over his eyes.  
"Have I made myself clear, Chief Westgort?"

The gruff Mastiff tried not to show it, but his stiffening stance and the slight drop in voice timbre betrayed his annoyance toward Cooney's encroachment.  
"Crystal clear."

Rick adjusted his necktie.  
"Thank you for understanding. So long as you keep your guards outside and your bugs turned off, I think we'll get along just fine."

The mastiff chided Cooney as he passed through the pone door.  
"Don't tell me how to do my job."

The raccoon turned around and offered a cool-headed rebuke.  
"Then stop trying to do mine."  
He punched a button on the wall panel inside, sealing the room against the outside.

The room itself was plain and sterile, just like the hallway outside; four blank white walls, polished concrete floor and a single lighting fixture in the center of the celling. A square table occupied the middle of the room, and a metal folding chair was placed on either side of it.

Sitting in the chair furthest from the door, and leaning back with his feet resting on the table, was the bleach-white wolf who called himself 'Kishu'.  
"_Nice_ zinger. That Westgort fella is real dick, you know that?"

"I'm used to it..."  
Rick crossed to the table.  
"Speaking of Westgort, how has his hospitality been?"

The wolf gave an indifferent shrug.  
"What can I say? The food is lousy, the company is lousier, and nobody will tell me where this swanky jail-house of yours is."

"I guess you've been kept in the dark long enough..."  
The raccoon set his briefcase on the table and sat in the chair opposite Kishu.  
"At this moment, you are being held in a state-of-the-art, maximum security prison buried deep inside a mountain on the planet Titania. It's the very same facility that transport you hijacked was en-route for."

"Go figure."  
The wolf gave a little chuckle at the irony.  
"You're here for some big interrogation, right? So ask away."

"Do you remember the first questions I asked you? Back on Zoness?"

The prisoner answered lazily, starring into the celling.  
"Yeah, and I already told you who I am~"

"You told me a name: 'Kishu', and it could very easily be a false one, or possibly an alias..."  
Rick snapped his briefcase open and began fingering through it.  
"I had your DNA pattern run through every archive and database LCI has access to, and it only landed a single direct match – in the crew manifest for that prisoner transport. According to the files, you're supposed to be 'Special Security Officer: Ethan Volk', but that's been recently discredited as a false document. The actual Officer Volk has been missing for three months, and the DNA patterns for all his other documents are different from the pattern in the crew manifest."

The lupine prisoner took his feet off the table and dropped them to the floor.  
"I guess that leaves you and your nifty intelligence agency stuck on square one."

"Not exactly."  
Rick removed a manila filing file from the briefcase.  
"We did find an _indirect_ match; in the records of Wayland General Hospital, on Macbeth. It was the the kind of match we normally see with familial association... Did you know that you're a father?"

Kishu flinched at the sudden revelation, and his ears snapped to an attentive position.  
"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I guess not, you haven't even seen her in over a year."  
The raccoon opened the file folder, thumbing through its contents.

"Seen who?"

"Don't play dumb with me, you know _exactly_ who she is."  
Rick slipped a printed photograph out of the folder and handed it across the table to Kishu.

The wolf snatched up the picture.  
"How did you?~ What did she?~ Carmen was just a whore last time I saw her."  
His eyes bounced back and forth between the photo in his hand, and Richard Cooney – sitting so impassively across from him.

The raccoon's stony demeanor didn't falter in the slightest, and the black barriers of his glasses offered no insight into the agent's state of mind.  
"She seems to think you were a good deal _more_ to her."

Kishus' gaze settled on the picture he held.  
"She was naïve~"

"She was _lonely._"  
The raccoon reached across the table and took the photo from the prisoner's hand.  
"Night after night she'd allow complete strangers screw her, desecrate her body, just so she could afford to live. Every night for her was a disgusting, impersonal violation of her sanctity – and Carmen O'Donnell put up with it because that was the only way she could survive."  
He slipped the picture of Carmen back into the file.  
"But you... You were different, somehow. You cared for her, listened to her, protected her; and sometimes, you even gave her a shoulder to cry on."

The wolf was storming with emotions he long thought were buried  
"I didn't mean for any of that to happen... I mean... I could relate to her, I could understand the shit she was going through, and~"

"_Relate_ to her?!"  
Rick found a nerve with the lupine prisoner, and twisted it for all its worth.  
"She was a frightened girl scrounging for cash in the urban slums of Macbeth! So what does that make _you,_ 'Kishu'? Just what sort of desperate lowlife scum are you, that when your lover finally got pregnant from your juice, you _deserted_ her?"

That was the breaking point, and he finally snapped.  
"Shut the fuck up!"  
The wolf glared across the table with eyes aflame and barred teeth.  
"_You..._ don't know _anything_ about me!"

"Is that so?..."  
Rick took it in-stride – only a cocked eyebrow above the frame of his glasses signaled any change.  
"Then prove just how wrong I am about you, Kishu. Tell me truthfully, what made you walk out on her?"

The wolf's outrage began to deflate, and settled into a steady determination to defend his pride.  
"I left Carmen to keep her safe."

"Safe from what, exactly?"

"From me... sorta."  
Kisu took a pause for himself before launching into his explanation.  
"I didn't let myself get sucked into the hierarchy bullshit of gangs or the mob who'd try to control a guy like me. So I worked on my own, without any ties to anyone. Without personal attachments, I had nothing that could be used to jerk me around... But if word ever got out about Carmen and me, someone might try to yank on me by hurting her, or at least threatening to hurt her. I~ she got too close, and I had to let her go."

The raccoon gave him a few moments before pressing his advantage.  
"Do you love her?"

"I can't love her."

The walls seemed to be closing in around them, confining them.

"You could've had your pick of any prostitute roaming the streets and alleyways, but you always came back for Carmen."

"It was a _mistake._"

The pressure was building, and the tension mounting.

"It must've been hard on you, working solo the way you did. Is that why needed someone who gave half a damn about you? Were you as hopelessly isolated in this world as she was?"

He cracked under the pressure, snarling across the table at Rick and his personal intrusions.  
"Why the fuck do you give such a shit about it?! You know I helped hijack that fucking ship! Why don't you just punish me already?!"  
He may have appeared angry on the outside; but underneath, Kishu was confused, torn-up and baffled.

Slowly, Richard Cooney let a friendly smile take-hold on his face.  
"I was beginning to think you'd never ask..."  
The raccoon removed his dark glasses, and placed them in a shirt pocket.  
"If this were a simple matter of condemning you for your crimes, I could have you tried and convicted by the proper authorities in an instant."

Rick leaned in, lacing his hands together on the tabletop, and pinning the prisoner in his chair with his unveiled gaze, which was even more unnerving than the blank slate of sunglasses.  
"I know what you are, 'Kishu'. You're one of those egotistic, self-reliant, Black Market hotshots who always prides himself on his independence. Your kind are valued and sought after by those who need the most horrendous and heinous acts committed. Acts which include but aren't limited to: robberies, thievery, kidnappings, assassinations, or even the hijacking of a ship."

"Having no personal ties may help when you don't want to be manipulated, but you also don't have anyone to back you up. Unlike gangs or the criminal underground – who stick together closer than family – no one has any personal stake in your well-being beyond the job you were hired for. Your greatest value to an employer is not your independence, or your skills, or your bull-headed determination to finish the job. Your greatest value is that you are _completely_ expendable. You are paid to be nothing but a lowly pawn on someone else's chessboard, and you can't see the players or any of the other pieces."

Cooney allowed a few seconds to let the gravity of his words sink in, then he went for the jugular.  
"You have no loyalties to defend, and no promises to keep. So other than your blatant, almost juvenile contempt for authority, what reason do you have to hide anything from me?"

Kishu considered his captor's question, and offered a question of his own.  
"What reason do I have to talk?"

The raccoon relaxed – averting his eyes to watch one of the walls.  
"I was like you once: desperate, strapped for cash, and willing to do just about anything to survive another day. I never thought about the consequences of my actions beyond the credits I was paid, and sometimes those actions would come back to haunt me..."  
Rick returned his gaze to the wolf, and offered him an ultimatum.  
"You want a reason to talk? Here's your reason – I have at my disposal: the resources, the means, and the capabilities to bust you out of this prison. And right now, I'm the only person left in the entire Lylat system who might show you some shred of sympathy."

"No joke?"

"Trust me, even Carmen hates your guts."

The gravity of Kishu's circumstances finally began to drag him down. With no other options available, the wolf submitted.  
"Okay you got me, I'll talk... but how do you know I won't just bullshit you?"

"I'll know..."  
Rick, removed the wire-framed sunglasses from his shirt pocket, weary from bending his prisoner's iron will; but he hid his fatigue as he replaced the dark glasses over his eyes once more.  
"The first two questions I asked you were 'Who are you?' and 'How did you survive?' I know who you are now, but I still have no idea how you got through that whole mess with the prison ship. That seems a good place to start."

Kishu hadn't lost any of his spunk, and the wolf got comfortable in his chair once again.  
"That... is one long and whacked-up story."

-

* * *

-

_He is haunted by a great, unsolved doubt.  
He is one of those who don't want millions, but an answer to their questions._

-Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov-


	17. A Deadly Game of Secrets

A Deadly Game of Secrets

_...when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._

-Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle, _The Sign of the Four_-

* * *

Chief Warden Mason Westgort made his rounds through the painfully sterile corridors of the Mt. Khali Prison complex. He was only barely aware of the passing time during his jaunt through the white labyrinth; all the halls all looked exactly the same. The mastiff eventually arrived at a familiar sight: a pair of statuesque canine prison guards standing ready just outside interrogation chamber 12-A.

Surprised, Chief Westgort stopped.  
"Are they still in there?"

One of the guards dipped his head in a mechanical nod.  
"Yes sir."

"Good grief. How long have they been at it?"

"About... three hours and twenty-two~"

The guard was cut short when the door slid open, allowing a frenzied voice burst through.  
"_~you sleazy two-faced bastard!_"

The steady figure of LCI agent Richard Cooney followed soon after, and waited until the door slid shut behind him to speak.  
"I'm afraid my interview's gone sour, I'll have to schedule another session some other time."  
He started down the hall with Chief Westgort at his his side.

"Though luck, huh?"  
The mastiff scoffed amusedly.

Rick didn't look at him.  
"It all depends on your point of view."

"And what exactly _is_ your point of view?"

The raccoon gave Westgort a smirk off the side of his face  
"Classified, of course..."  
He stopped, and glanced back to the interrogation chamber door behind him.  
"Do what you need to do Chief. I know the way out."

"Just don't come whining to me when you get lost."  
The mastiff turned on his heel and returned the way he came.

"Wouldn't dream of it."  
Rick left Westgort and his staff to their own devices, navigating the white maze with no trouble at all. After several uneventful minutes walking through the unchanging corridors, he was joined by Rachelle. The two continued through

"This 'stealth leg' is really bugging me. It's uncomfortable, awkward, and feels like it could snap with the slightest pressure. At least the other leg could take a beating. I'd rather have a prosthetic that screams _'I'm an amputee'_ and works better than a real leg, than have one that hides the fact and breaks at the first sign of trouble."

Rachelle pretended not to ignore her brother's complaints.  
"You can have comfort and durability, or you can have discretion, not both. Besides, it's only for these sensitive cover situations. That clunker leg of yours only draws unneeded attention and makes you stand out."

"I know, I know..."  
He let the topic fade away, and moved on to more pressing matters.  
"Did you find out anything we should know about this place?"

"Maybe. Have you noticed how empty this place is for a prison complex?"  
She gestured vaguely around to indicate the facility.

"The lights are on, but nobody's home..."  
Rick's shaded gaze followed her gesturing around the space.  
"Your thoughts?"

Rachelle elaborated on her concerns while they continued through.  
"Prisoners get checked in, they're not checking out; and aside from a select few token inmates, there hardly seems to be a trace of them anywhere. Whatever the case is, I'm definitely coming back here to do some more digging. Maybe those hijackers knew something we don't... Speaking of: how'd that one-on-one go?"

Rick scratched his ear thoughtfully before giving any sort of answer.  
"The guy is either a wonderfully creative liar, or things just got _very _interesting..."

-

* * *

-

A pair of figures dashed through a dirty maintenance walkway – a thin primate and a white wolf, both dressed in the navy blue uniforms of security officers. They stopped just outside the central engineering chamber where the heated exchange of a firefight echoed through the space, but the two were in no immediate danger.

"These guys aren't regular pilots, they're some kind of elite commando group. We _need_ reinforcements... you saw how many we lost back there!"  
Kishu gestured back through the maintenance tube.

"Very well then..."  
The ape set his assault rifle aside and readied a compact handgun instead.  
"The party at the armory is closest, slip out the back way and return here with them promptly."

"Aren't you coming?"

He shook his head.  
"If these intruders are left alone, they'll rearm and detonate that infernal explosive – something we cannot allow to happen..."  
The ape looked over his shoulder into main engineering and spotted Chakori. The leopardess held a position just inside the blast door with her rifle trained steadily down the corridor. He turned back to Kishu, now with a confident sneer.  
"I should be able to coax a few minutes from the lady, plenty of time~"

A startled uproar from the firefight cut him short. It was a clattering screech of metal torn apart, and the gurgling, sputtering cry of a dying man repeated in quick succession. The gangly primate shoved at the thunderstruck wolf and hissed.  
"There's no time to gawk, now _go!_"

Kishu stumbled back through the maintenance tube, leaving the ape to his fate.

-

* * *

-

_*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*_

A groggy voice cut through the darkness amidst the shuffle of shifting sheets.  
"I'm up, I'm up... lights on!"

Light flooded into the space, revealing a small, very ordinary bedroom. Other than its cleanliness, the only distinctive element in the room was a green Cornerian Army junior officer's uniform, neatly folded and laying on top of a plain dresser.

_*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*_

"Where _is_ it?..."  
Basil Pepper sat up on the bed, down to only trunks and an undershirt for the night. The hound fumbled a hand across the bedside table, searching for his personal comm that'd woken him. He found the device on the floor, and snatched it up.

_*Beep* *Beep* ~_

Pepper answered the call, too tired to be angry.  
"Do you guys _always_ ring-in at such odd times?..."  
He couldn't hold back the yawn.

"_Didn't you know? Agents of Central Intelligence are practically infamous for calling-up their new talent at ridiculous hours on a whim..."  
_It was the cheery... better make that sarcastic voice of Rick Cooney.  
_"So how is that position in Cornerian Defense Headquarters doing for you? Logistics Officer for Spec-Ops Command: that's moving up in the world."_

The bloodhound squinted his eyes, unsure what to make of Rick's sarcasm.  
"Mr. Cooney, logistics is a data-punching, paper-pushing, desk job. You'd think this deep cover espionage deal would be just a little more... interesting. What are you calling me for anyway?"

"_I'm sorry to hear you say that, maybe I could spice up your situation with an assignment. You game?"_

He rubbed his fingers across his brow, more from tiredness than anything else.  
"Sure... I'm game."

"_Great. I need of the complete, unabridged personnel roster for the... what do they call it?... 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment Echo..."_

Pepper became immediately alert; ears shifting and eyes widening as the fatigue left him.  
"Dagger? _All_ of Dagger?"

"_Yep – every name, every face, and a true story to go with each one."_

The hound was getting a little more intrigue than he bargained for. Dumbfounded, Basil Pepper stood up and began to pace around his room.  
"Mr. Cooney, I just can't log onto the HQ mainframe and download the roster. Dagger's personnel files are protected by multiple layers of triple encrypted databases, each programed with its own lockout failsafe, along with several decoy files. Most of these operatives aren't even supposed to officially exist..."

"_Relax. I wouldn't ask you to hack so much as a toaster, let alone the mainframe for Cornerian Defense Headquarters."_

"But I don't have that kind of clearance... maybe if you went through Command~"

"_Hey! I didn't ask Spec-Ops Command for that roster, I asked you, and for a reason. You're a Logistics Officer now, you handle military data – this stuff should be straight up your alley~"_

"Hold on, can I ask you something?"

There was a brief pause between them, then Cooney responded.  
_"You can ask, but that doesn't mean you'll get an answer."_

"Why do you need this done? What is Intelligence going to use that personnel roster for?"

The channel remained painfully silent for several seconds, waiting for the answers.  
_"...Let's just say I've got some awfully sensitive homework to do; something Command need not be bothered with. That's all I'm gonna tell you." _

"Oh... okay..."  
He'd overstepped his bounds.

"_Listen to me. The more you know, the greater danger you could put yourself in. I need you to trust me with my motives, otherwise I can't trust you with this assignment. Understand?"_

No sense in backing out now, not after coming this far.  
"Sure, I'll do it – I trust you... is there a plan or am I just going to improvise as I go?"

Rick waited a few seconds before beginning.  
_"Two days from now, Senator Powell of the Union Congress Armed Forces Committee will be paying a visit to Cornerian Defense Headquarters, I have Secret Service protection duty for the occasion as apart of my cover. Somehow, a copy of Dagger's most up-to-date personnel roster has to find its way into my hands that day, and you are going to make it so."_

With his task given to him, Pepper regained the vigor of a soldier with orders to carry out.  
"You can count on me Mr. Cooney. I'll figure something out, and you'll have those personnel files."

"_You know you could be court-marshaled and discharged if you're caught, right?"_

The hound nodded.  
"Fully aware."

"_Good man. I'll see you then, Spice."_

_-_

* * *

-

Kishu stepped through the sliding door onto the bridge of the nameless prisoner transport. The view outside the main window was a pale gray nothing, The white wolf looked around, and found several expectant faces looking back at him – waiting. All Kishu offered in return was as blank pokerface.

Finally, one of them spoke up.  
"Did you get it? Did it work?"  
He was a compact, powerfully built boar with bristly brown fur.

Kishu nodded to the speaker, and removed the hard drive from his pocket for the relived onlookers to see. Not one second after he presented the device, the wolf tossed it into the air, drew his blaster handgun, and fired three shots – destroying the hard drive. The fused, smoldering remains dropped to the floor at the boar's feet.  
"What the hell did you do that for?! That was our _only chance!_"

"How stupid can you possibly be?!"  
The wolf lowered his weapon, snarling at the angered crewman.  
"That hard drive was probably bugged with a tracking device, or maybe something else... This whole setup was a trap, and you all walked straight into it!"

"Oh _we_ walked into it?! This whole shit-smear of a plan was _your_~"  
The fuming boar was cut short when a blaster shot ripped into his forehead, right between the eyes. His limp body collapsed onto the bridge floor, the reek of burnt flesh permeating throughout the bridge.

"If anyone wants to make it out of this jam breathing, you'll listen to me and do as I say..."  
Kishu held the smoking blaster toward the ceiling, growling his words as he spoke them.  
"Any objections?"

The motley bridge crew stood agape – starring either at the fresh corpse, or the killer. With no further protests, the wolf dropped his blaster into its holster and took his place at the captain's chair.

"You, in the pilot's spot..."  
Kishu gestured toward an avian crewman at one of the terminals.  
"Take this tub up and break orbit, we're getting out of here."

"You got it."  
The crewman entered a few commands into the console and took hold of the control yoke in front of him.

The engine thrusters grumbled into life, urging the heavy space vessel forward as it climbed sluggishly through the gray mists of Zoness. For some time, everything seemed to work out alright – it seemed like they were going to make it. After a few uneventful minutes, the prison ship began to rise above the dense cloud cover, revealing the clear blue sky above...

That's when it happened.

_*Crack!*_

Like a clap of thunder, a mighty electrical jolt jarred the heavy vessel, making the overhead lights flicker on and off from the shock. A worried, almost frightened murmur erupted among the ragtag bridge crew, but at least one .

"Tell me what just happened, _now!_"  
Kishu barked his demands at the pilot.

"Ahhh... _crap._"  
The avian crewman scrambled his hands across his conslole.  
"The G-diffuser's power supply's been cut somehow... _We're goin' down!_"

The lumbering transport was at the final apex of its climb, and began its inevitable plunge back through the mists. The formless gray outside made it impossible to know how fast the ship was plummeting. But inside, everything began to feel lighter and lighter – steadily approaching weightlessness as the ship plunged into free-fall.

When splashdown finally came, the sheer impact sent the entire crew careening forward as the vessel's bow punched into the sea. Kishu was thrown several feet from the Captain's chair to where he lay sprawled face-down against the bridge deck. He got off easy compared to others who were jammed into their terminals, or slammed against a wall, or worse...

Even with the whole ship pitching and swaying on the choppy water, the wolf pushed to his feet and staggered back to the Captain's position, where he activated the ship's intercom.  
"Whoever the fuck's in engineering: get off your ass and get those backup systems running _pronto!_..."  
He bellowed into the terminal, but there was no answer.  
"Is there _anyone_ down there?!..."  
Still, no answer.  
"God... _Dammit!_"

Kishu pounded his fist into the terminal and stormed out of the bridge, unconcerned about the wounded he left behind. The wolf bolted through the ship's dingy corridors toward engineering. He passed several worried figures on the way, and ignored every single one of them – dead-set on his goal...

Something wasn't right...

Kishu stopped at a junction in the corridor for a second – both to catch a breath and to assess his surroundings. Apart from the expected background noises and the dull sloshing of water beyond the hull, there was nothing... but there shouldn't have been nothing. There ought to have been some fearful crewmen rushing about, or an enraged inmate cursing all existence, or anything other than the grave, unnerving, silence...

_*Hmpfc~*  
_The grunt was quiet, barely audible, and would've been completely silent in any other setting. Yet the hard steel build of the prison ship carried the ghastly sound much further and much longer, reaching the wolf's keen ears even at that distance.

Kishu glanced down the side passage, and saw a bright orange of a prisoner's jumpsuit in the distance. The inmate's lifeless body dropped slowly to the floor, too slowly... No, the dead man was quietly set down by another figure. Someone concealed in matte black, and used the shadows to appear nearly invisible~

Without another second's hesitation, the white wolf ducked behind the corner – heart pounding and mind racing.

_Who was that?... How did he get on-board?... Are there more?... Did he spot me?..._

He listened as hard as he could, but the continued silence told more than any noise could. The intruder intended to remain hidden, and would pursue his target unnoticed... but two could play that game. Kishu drew and readied his handgun, and moved through the corridors as quickly as he could and remain silent. Main engineering was close by and its narrow maintenance tubes were an ideal location for an ambush~

A volley of blaster fire sizzled past Kishu, barely missing him as he ducked flat against the wall. At the first possible opening, the wolf brought his pistol up and took aim down the hall, searching... The mysterious attacker was nowhere to be seen. Another sound seeped in from beyond the silence: it was weapons-fire, short cries of agony~

Kishu broke off and sprinted away toward engineering again. This wasn't the time to be distracted by whatever was happening. He needed to take care of the immediate threat, and there was no way he could take this one head-on. He'd have to set a simple trap instead...

The side passage into engineering was ordinary enough: just a variation of the heavy blast door used at the main entrance, only smaller. The door was already open, so Kishu dashed through it, but didn't seal it off – the door had to be open for this to work. He rushed through the narrow maintenance passages toward the central chamber, shooting out a few of the wall-mounted light fixtures on the way. The broken shards on the floor should alert the wolf of a pursuer when they're stepped on, compromising his enemy's element of surprise~

_*Crunch*_

That was the first one, the shadowy intruder was close and closing in. Kishu was very close to the central chamber of main engineering, assessed the position: this narrow maintenance passage was long enough, and with no cover to speak of – an excellent place to stage an ambush. Satisfied, the lupine assassin positioned himself at the end of the passage, just out of sight and ready to spring his trap~

_*Crunch*_

That was the nearest one. Whoever this pursuer was, he was now in position. Not wasting a second, Kishu stepped out from his cover, took aim at the black shadow, and pulled the trigger.

_*Click* *Click* *Click*_

Empty.

"_What the Fuck?!_"  
Infuriated, the wolf dodged back behind cover, barely avoiding another spray of blaster- fire. He swapped out the magazine charge as fast as he could, then stepped back out to the firing position... but the attacker already had the advantage. Out of nowhere, a hulking shadow exploded into the wolf using a running backhand strike with the forearm. The blow knocked the Kishu off his feet and sent him skidding across the floor...

This was it. In the next instant, the great skulking shadow would tear though the helpless wolf's body with a blazing string of blaster shots, ending his life~

"Agh!"  
...or not.

Kishu looked up to see the black shadow collapse face-down to the floor. It was the first clear view he had of the attacker, and it was obvious this guy meant serious business. He wore a matte black combat suit with matching tactical vest, a mask covered most of his face, and a visored headset hid the rest. His right hand held the grip of a modular assault rifle fitted with a scope and silencer...

Then Kishu saw what made him collapse.

The shadow's headset was ripped away by someone else, revealing the orange and white furred face of a tiger. Then a heavy knife with an unusual forward curve slipped under the feline soldier's chin and pressed against his neck.

The the knife was held by an ashen gray leopardess kneeling on the tiger's back; Chakori, and she'd definitely seen better days. Her fur was matted and dirty, the Cornerian pilot's uniform she wore was in tatters with its left sleeve completely burnt away. Other than the hand and shoulder, her entire left arm was wrapped in makeshift bandages.  
"You have exactly five seconds before I carve a canyon in your throat. Convince me otherwise..."

-

* * *

-

The living room was alright: clean, organized, but arranged by someone with less than great taste. A dated vidscreen clung to one wall, some tacky furniture was neatly scattered throughout the space, and the bookshelves were stocked with the cheapest available books and meaningless keepsakes. It wasn't a home, but it could probably pass for one without close inspection.

Richard Cooney lounged idly on a sofa in the room. He was dressed in an unassuming outfit of denim jeans and polo shirt, but the raccoon did switch back to his 'good old' bulky prosthetic. At the moment, he held a document viewing tablet with a small hard drive hooked into it, and was looking at one very particular document.

CSOF Affiliation Record / ID: 1857-19-47FD

Name: Jhetar, Hassan

Rank: Sergeant / Havildar

Callsign: Vindaloo

Spc: Tiger, Orange

Age: 30

_See medical report for complete vital layout_

Service Log, Abridged

-Applied and accepted for special recruitment: Cornerian Army Ghurtak Brigade. Fort Catterick, Fortuna-

-Completed Basic Training-

-Stationed with 1st Ghurtak Rifles-

-Assigned to peacekeeping operations for Fortuna/Titania-

-Promoted to Naik / Corporal-

-Recommended for ranger school, Fort Bierce-

-Ranger certified-

-Promoted to Havildar / Sergeant-

-Granted full Cornerian citizenship for exceptional service in Ghurtak Brigade-

-Recommended for special operations training-

-Transferred to Fort Fenris for observation-

-Transferred to Cornerian Army 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment Echo (codename Dagger)-

-end log-

_See mission logs for complete operations history_

This was definitely the right guy. Nervous Pepper really came through in leaking the personnel roster. Here in Richard Cooney's hands were the medical histories, mission logs, biographies – anything anyone would like to know about the Cornerian Army's most elite and most secretive soldiers all at one's fingertips, literally~

The mechanical click of a cocking firearm broke the silent doldrums, accompanied by a bitter and commanding voice.  
"Get up... _slowly._"

Rick did so, and was faced with the imposing figure of Hassan Jhetar. He looked exactly the way he appeared in his personnel file.  
"You're finally back! I was beginning to worry about you for a second there."

The tiger held his handgun aimed steady at Cooney.  
"Stow your wisecracks and tart talking: Who are you? And how did you get in?"

Despite being held at gunpoint, the raccoon stepped around the couch and cheerfully offered his hand to Hassan.  
"You must be Sergeant Jhetar from Dagger, or should I refer to your rank as 'Havildar'? Either way, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"Just shut up and keep your hands where I can see them."

Rick casually put his hands up, but continued to speak while the tiger pulled out his comm and began to dial a number.  
"So what are you going to tell them? That some nobody broke into the Spec-Ops safehouse you're staying in? It'll seem more like irresponsibility from where they're sitting, like you forgot to lock the door or something. To your credit though, it's nowhere near as foolhardy as what you pulled during _Operation: Ahab,_ but Command doesn't know about that little stint, do they?"

Hassan froze in mid-dial when he heard this. He dropped his comm back in his pocket and carefully approached the raccoon.  
"What are you talking about? Who sent you?!"

"I sent me, and I need your help~"

In a flash, Jhetar snapped his handgun back to a firing position against Cooney.  
"I don't know who you think you are, but you're in for a whole world of trouble if you think you can blackmail me. So fuck off."

Rick shook his head.  
"No, this isn't blackmail. This is what you folks in the military call _'deterrence by mutually assured destruction'._"

Infuriated, Hassan pressed the end of his blaster against the raccoon's forehead.  
"I can make smartass pricks like you disappear _completely,_ and it would be as easy as pulling this trigger."

The raccoon shrugged indifferently at the threat.  
"Not as easy as you may think, especially if that blaster is loaded with a blank charge."

"Huh?"  
The Dagger soldier pulled his pistol away and checked its charge. Sure enough, it was loaded with nothing but a harmless blank.  
"You sly bastard, how did you~ What the hell are you?"

Having thoroughly bewildered the feline soldier, Rick finally owned up to him.  
"I'm a covert agent of Lylat Central Intelligence. My name is Richard Cooney, codename 'Bandit'. By simply having this conversation with you, I'm operating in a rogue capacity. If LCI administration hears of it, they'll cut me off like an infected limb and disavow my very existence. Now that we both have some incriminating dirt on each other, we can trust each other. Thus: mutually assured destruction."

Hassan lowered his weapon as he connected the dots.  
"You trash my career, and I trash yours."

Rick nodded in agreement.  
"Basically."

The tiger took a few moments to take it all in, unsure of what he was getting into.  
"You said you needed my help, what with exactly?"

"I'll get to that in a second, I have to ask you something first."  
The raccoon returned to his previous place on the couch.

The feline soldier sat down in an armchair across from Rick.  
"Go ahead."

"Why did you do what you did during Operation: Ahab? You could've easily returned with reinforcements and wiped them clean-out. So my question is this: what could possibly make you, an elite commando of Dagger, disobey direct orders from your superiors and allow those two to survive?"

Hassan Jhetar laid his elbows against his knees and laced his fingers together. It was a complicated question, and needed an equally complicated explanation.  
"There are some loyalties, Mr. Cooney, that surpass even Dagger."

-

* * *

-

Dagger operative Hassan Jhetar lay prone on the hard metal floor of main engineering. That wolf in the security uniform lay on his side about ten feet ahead, clutching his ribs in pain. The tiger was about to call for reinforcements when his headset was torn off. Then the razor-sharp edge of a blade jammed itself under his neck and a cold, sharp voice spoke to the soldier.  
"You have exactly five seconds before I carve a canyon in your throat. Convince me otherwise..."

Hassan couldn't see who the speaker was, but he recognized the distinct feel of that blade against his neck, and the accent sounded far too familiar. It was a longshot but maybe, just maybe...  
"_Kaphar hunnu bhanda..._"

It worked. The blade relaxed when she recognized the words.  
"_...bhanda marnu ramro._ Better to die..."

"...than to live as a Coward."  
He finished the phrase, and tried to negotiate with the unknown woman.  
"You have nothing to fear from me, I could never harm a fellow Ghrtak."

"Then tell me what's happening."  
She sounded less than convinced.

The subdued tiger tried to explain the situation.  
"Even as we speak, there's a sapper team rigging one of the airlocks to remain completely open – this ship is going to _sink._"

Hassan was stood up to his feet – still with the blade against his throat, and still unable to see who held it.  
"Then you will take us out of here."

"I can't do that."

The blade pressed harder against his neck.  
"Why not?"

The tiger was led back through the narrow maintenance corridors, broken glass crunching underfoot as they walked.  
"Our orders are to kill on sight: no prisoners, no survivors, no exceptions. If I try to get you out of here, you'll be killed."

"You are in no position to make demands~"

"_You _are running out of time!The rest of my unit will come looking for me if I'm out of contact for much longer, and they will not hesitate to kill you both."

They stopped in the middle of the narrow corridor.  
"What unit?..."  
He couldn't see her, but Hassan could feel the woman's breath against his ear when she drew close and whispered.  
"Tell me what force you're apart of, or your fellow soldiers will find only your bleeding _corpse._"

There was nothing for it, he'd have to tell her.  
"Cornerian Army, Special Forces Operational Detachment Echo – Dagger."

A long and uncomfortable period of silence hung between them for some moments. From further away, the racket and clamor of many firefights echoed dimly into the passageway.  
"Then you will leave, and not return here..."  
They started moving again.  
"Tell your Dagger friends what a good job you've done. My friend and I will be staying aboard."

Hassan almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.  
"But that's _suicide!_"

There should've been a laugh here – the mystery woman's response sounded absolutely smug.  
"It wouldn't be the first time I've spat In the face of certain death."

She released the tiger from her deadly grasp back into the corridor he came from, and then his missing headset was jammed haphazardly onto his head. Hassan adjusted the headset and looked back only to see the heavy door slam shut shut in his face.

-

* * *

-

"She was strong. I never saw her face or learned her name, but I knew she was kin from the moment she held her kukri blade to my throat. If there is anyone in Lylat I would trust above a fellow soldier of Dagger, it would be a fellow Ghurtak. I don't think my comrades in Dagger would have understood this in the heat of the moment, so I left those two to their fates, and said nothing of them to anyone."

Hassan was still in the armchair, and Rick still sat on the sofa, just as they had been for several minutes before. The only notable change between the two of them was how they both seemed more comfortable in each other's company. The tiger was no longer suspicious of his unexpected guest, and the raccoon dropped his whimsical facade, revealing the grave nature of his concerns.  
"Her name is Chakori, and she's one of ours..."  
Rick didn't lie, he simply told particular set of truths.  
"Like you and several others in Dagger, many of us in Intelligence aren't supposed to exist either."

Hassan came to a realization, and slapped himself in the forehead.  
"Of course, it makes perfect sense now! You sneaks had agents planted all over that damned ship: the escort squad, the security forces, even in the prison cells. Then you called on Dagger when everything went to shit. My god what happened?!"

"Exactly what I was afraid would happen, but far worse than I ever imagined."  
Again, the raccoon chose his words with the utmost care.  
"Chakori and her 'friend' escaped that wreck after everything settled, but there's been a complication... and it's why I need your help in the first place. Chakori's 'friend' did a few incredibly stupid things that landed him behind bars in the Mt. Khali prison complex on Titania..."  
Richard Cooney furrowed his brow, and looked Hassan square in the eye.  
"I need him out of there, can I count you in?"


	18. The Scoundrel and the Soldier

_**The Scoundrel and the Soldier**_

It was exactly the same as the last time.

The room was still a plain white box – furnished only with a cheap table, a pair of inexpensive chairs, and lit with a single fixture in the middle of the celling. Kishu sat alone in one of these chairs, resting an elbow against the table . with one hand he supported his sagging head, and drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the tabletop with the other.

It could've been hours, minuets, or even a matter of seconds, but it was all the same here. Time didn't count for much when there wasn't anything to count. However long it was, Kishu's uneventful doldrum finally came to an end when the door to the outside slid open and a familiar, sharply dressed smartass entered the room. LCI agent Richard Cooney looked exactly as he did before: black suit, black shades, and a thin metallic briefcase full of surprises.

When the door slid shut behind the raccoon, Kishu glanced up and gave the agent a resentful welcome.  
"Back to talk shit into my face again?"

Rick ignored the wolf's jeer, keeping silent and stone-faced behind his dark wire-framed glasses while he just stood there. The lupine prisoner waited for some response from the agent, any response, but didn't get so much as a raised eyebrow.  
"I already told you everything I know. How much more can you secret agent assholes possibly suck from me?"  
Kishu turned his head away in scorn.

The silence between them stretched on longer than it should've, then the wolf heard Rick's voice speak for the first time that day.  
"I didn't come for information, I came to get you out."

"What?!"  
Kishu sat bolt upright, hardly believing a single word he heard.  
"You're actually gonna bust me outta this joint? How?!"

The raccoon cracked his briefcase open and felt around inside for something.  
"I won't be able to go over the details to you, but you'll catch on pretty quick once it all gets rolling... and you'll need this..."  
Rick tossed the wolf a pair of compact night vision goggles.

Kishu caught the goggles, eyeing them perplexedly.  
"What the hell for?"

"You'll need it."

The wolf quickly looked over the optics again, but was thinking about something else entirely.  
"Why are you doing all this? I've been nothing but a total jerk to you~"

Instead of answering, Rick pulled out his personal comm and cut him short.  
"I'm sorry but it looks like we're all out of time for today. We'll have to catch up on this next time we see each other."  
The raccoon pocketed his comm and turned away toward the door.

"No, wait!"  
Kishu shot out of his chair, desperate for answers.  
"Whats this got to do with anything? What the fuck is going on here?!"

The raccoon stopped only for a second, and responded cooly over his shoulder.  
"If you want answers, then all you have to do is come and get them. I'll see you on the other side."

Rick opened the door between the plain interrogation chamber and the corridor outside and went through it. One could hear the raccoon discussing something with one of the guards outside, but the door slid shut again, leaving the lupine prisoner alone once again.

With nothing better to do, Kishu slumped back into the chair and waited. Since time meant little, it was somewhere between several seconds and several minutes before anything remarkable happened. When it did happen, 'remarkable' would've been a gross understatement...

It all went black.

The lights failed, plunging the tiny white room into the total darkness of a complete blackout. Kishu quickly recovered from the shock and put on the night vision goggles Rick left him. Once activated, the world around him could only be seen in shades of green through the goggles' tunnel vision, but at least he could see...

"What the~"  
_*Clunk*_

The dull knock at on door resonated through the tiny room. It could only have been that guard posted outside, now neutralized by whatever that was out there.

The blackout got to the automated doors, but the entrance still slid open with the forceful urging of someone's hand, then that someone entered. It was a little difficult to make out with the night vision, but Kishu recognized the familiar form of his former enemy.  
"You?!"

The feline form in the doorframe was none other than Hassan Jhetar, and he was equipped with a similar pair of night vision goggles that enabled him to see just as clearly as Kishu.  
"Lets go rookie! We're burning time here!"  
He gestured for the wolf to follow him out.

Kishu didn't know what to think. Better yet, he stopped thinking altogether and let instinct take over – instincts which remembered Rick's words and saw the open door in front of him. Without wasting another precious second, the wolf sprung at the chance to escape. It was only a matter of seconds before Kishu and Hassan were gliding silently through the inky black in which both were so at home.

Following close behind the tiger, Kishu finally asked the important question.  
"What's the plan?"

"Nice and simple..."  
Hassan answered quietly as he moved.  
"Make a beeline for the hangar and board our getaway."

"What about the lockdown?" the wolf asked.

The tiger shook his head.  
"There is no lockdown, primary and auxiliary power's been knocked out."

"And the guards?"

Hassan pressed onward.  
"Aimless, but far from helpless. Their comm channels are centralized through this facility's communication's hub, that's lost power too. We'll be fine so long as we don't run into any large patrols, but we need to move fast before the power comes back on."

Kishu followed close behind his unlikely ally.  
"Fine by me."

The scoundrel and the soldier continued through the black depths of Mt. Khali, silent and invisible as a pair of spectres in the night. After some time, the white wolf slowed down and ultimately stopped.  
"Wait, do you hear that?"

Hassan also stopped, and listened deep into the darkness.  
"Two pairs of footsteps, ahead and down a hall to the left, heading this way. We can avoid them if~"

"Freeze!"

The tiger was blinded by the sudden bright light in his face which made the night vision goggles white out in his eyes. He could make out the silhouettes of two figures, guards by the sound of them. The Dagger soldier risked a glance to his side, but found Kishu missing.  
"You son of a bitch."  
He cursed quietly.

The guard thought Hassan directed that remark to him, and responded gruffly.  
"Watch your mouth buddy, I might take that personally in a minute~"

The other guard's shape shifted behind the light.  
"I think I heard something."

The first guard dismissed him, keeping his light pinned squarely on Hassan.  
"The dark is getting to you, we're all hearing something or other~"

The second guard became more restless.  
"No, I'm dead-sure I heard something."

The first guard let out a tired sigh.  
"Will you lighten up? It's just this one guy..."  
After talking down his jittery partner, he confronted Hassan again.  
"Okay buddy, start talking. Who~"

The guard fell to the floor as his feet were swept out from underneath him, and the flashlight clattered away, shrouding the scene in comfortable darkness.

With his night vision restored, the tiger leapt into action. He spotted the nervous second guard with his handgun drawn, but unsure where to aim it in the dark. The tiger rushed in and swatted the guard's weapon hand away, leaving him open for a knee strike to smash into his stomach. Even with the armor on, Hassan's blow still blasted the wind out of the hapless prison guard. Just as he keeled forward, the Dagger soldier dropped a double-handed hammerfist strike into the back of his opponent's skull, knocking him out cold from the staggering concussion.

Hassan let the limp guard collapse into a heap on the floor and looked up to find Kishu in a martial arts fighting stance, standing over the still form of the other guard. The wolf relaxed his stance when he spotted Jhetar and his handiwork.  
"What took you so long soldier?"

The tiger was in no mood for Kishu's witticism  
"Don't do that again."

"Hey it _worked,_ didn't it?"  
The wolf pointed out the unconscious prison guards at their feet.

Hassan rolled his eyes and held back a growl.  
"Let's go, the hangar bay is just ahead."  
He motioned toward the end of the corridor where a large blast door stood alone, presumably the docking bay's entrance.

"So is there a plan? Or do we just stroll through the main door?"

Hassan shook his head.  
"There's no power, and it's too heavy to manipulate by hand."

Kishu started looking for alternatives.  
"Side passages?"

"No time."

"Air vents?"

"Too small."

The wolf was practically hysterical now.  
"Then how are we getting in the hangar, _genius?!_"

_*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*_

The Dagger solder found his personal comm and checked it.  
"Shut up, stand back, and see for yourself."  
He entered a command on his communicator and waited...

_*KABOOM!*_

The blast blinded their night vision optics for a moment, and the screech of mangled metal deafened their ears a bit longer.

Kishu looked over to find the heavy blast door completely obliterated by some kind of heavy weapons fire. The impervious barrier was blasted through the corridor into nothing more than bent and twisted shrapnel fit only for scrap metal.  
"What the fuck did you do?!"

"Lets move it rookie! Someone'll have heard that!"  
Hassan Jhetar sprinted toward the new opening, directing the thunderstruck wolf to follow.

The pair rushed past the maimed remnants of the blast door, through empty frame, and into the darkened hangar with no immediate trouble. Among the lifeless and powerless vehicles, parked throughout the bay, a single beaten old currier craft stood out: the Cooeny's old rig, Dionysus. The light in the cockpit shone like a light at the end of the tunnel, and the twin barrels of its dorsal mounted turret smoked like a pair of spent cigarettes.

Hovering mere inches above the hangar floor, the spacecraft spun about and dropped its rear boarding ramp. The roaring din of the engines drowning out all other sounds. Without pausing for thought, Kishu and Hassan ran for the the entrance of the waiting spacecraft and dove inside the Dionysus' cramped cabin.

Rachelle Cooney sat strapped into the pilot's position with her hands firmly on the controls.  
"Hold onto something sturdy boys, we're booking it out of this dump!"  
In a span of a few seconds, she closed the boarding ramp and jammed the throttle forward. The battered spacecraft lunged out the gaping hangar exit ahead into the clear star speckled night.

-

* * *

-

The scene was a mess.

Power had been restored, but the scars of turmoil still showed fresh in the Mt. Khali hangar bay. Dozens of prison staff shuffled around the cavernous space – scratching their heads, furrowing their brows, or swearing under their breath as they wandered from station to station. Rick Cooney watched the scene from one side, standing perfectly still with his arms crossed over his chest, and without a hint of outward emotion to show for it.

When Mason Westgort approached from behind, the raccoon with no indication he was aware of his presence.  
"Chief Westgort, I was told Mt. Khali is the absolute most secure penal facility in the entire Lylat system. Not secure enough it seems..."  
Rick turned his head to catch a glimpse of Westgort, secretly enjoying how he could make the proud mastiff so uncomfortable in his own skin.

Westgort was at the breaking point between utter humiliation and furry, both of which he tried desperately to bury while in public.  
"I'm telling you Cooney, What happened today _shouldn't_ have happened. I don't know how these nutjobs managed to knock out both primary _and _backup power systems, but I can tell you it couldn't have been easy..."  
In spite of the circumstances, he was determined to save face in front of his own staff, and the enigmatic Intelligence agent.  
"Someone screwed up royally, and that someone's head is gonna roll when~"

"I don't want to hear excuses Mason, I could care less _how_ it happened..."  
Rick let Westgort have a few sheepish seconds to himself before continuing.  
"The fact of the matter is it _did_ happen and the inmate I brought here is now gone. Pointing fingers and casting blame isn't going to get my prisoner back any quicker."

"What do you want me to do about this mess?"  
The mastiff gestured broadly toward the disorder around him.

"I want you to do your duty: keep your inmates here and not chase after them when they escape. As far as I'm concerned, you don't need to do anything other than replace that blast-door, and fast..."  
The raccoon maintained his cool, confident composure as he skewed the facts just enough to cover his bases.  
"Like I said before, inmate 086 is my responsibility, which means it's my job now to do everything in my power to track him down and secure him once again. I can tell you the high brass of LCI won't be too happy about this, and when those guys aren't happy..."  
Rick stole another glance at Westgort, and spotted the tiny cringe as his imagination picked up where Cooney's words left off. Time to set him down nice and easy.  
"I'll tell you what, since my prisoner wasn't really on your records to begin with, I don't see any reason for you to report what doesn't exist... if you know what I mean..."

He got the hint, and relaxed with some relief.  
"I gotcha Cooney, loud and clear. You cover my ass and I'll cover yours."  
The Chief was still anything but calm, but at least he wasn't about to burst at the seams now.

The raccoon dropped his arms and casually slipped his hands into a pair of pockets.  
"All of us screw up every once in a while Mason, even the upstanding folks in Central Intelligence. The best we can do now is just roll with the punches."

Westgort stared blankly outward, nodding in uncertain agreement.  
"Yeah, sure, roll with the punches."

-

* * *

-

It was just before dawn at a remote mountain range on Titania. The mass of jagged peaks stood proud, yet the landscape remained drained and desaturated of its rusty hues before the sunrise. Still in his simple black suit Richard Cooney stood among these mountains near the edge of a plateau, watching the colors gradually seep into the sky during the blue hour of morning twilight. The sky was a deep blue above, gradating toward a deep red along the rough horizon...

The faint whine of a distant engine cut through the tranquil stillness. The raccoon looked behind him to the source of the noise, and spotted the Dionysus skimming the skies toward the place he stood. Rick watched as the persistent old spacecraft eased itself down to a flat and grainy surface on the plateau and finally touched down.

The craft's boarding ramp dropped open, and a familiar group of three disembarked: Rachelle Cooney, Hassan Jhetar, and wolf with an attitude who called himself Kishu.

Rick approached the new arrivals, waiting for the engine to die down before speaking.  
"I imagine you both have some questions, and I owe it to you to give some honest answers."

The feline Dagger soldier spoke first, with every intention to get those honest answers.  
"I'd like to know what secrets you're hiding, what your part is in all this, and what your payoff is for the gambles you've just bet..."

"Yeah, what he said..."  
Kishu jerked his thumb toward the tiger.

"I'd also like to know why you had me risk my entire career for this pitiful scumbag."  
Hassan glared at the wolf next to him.

Kishu winced as he responded to the soldier's chides.  
"How was I supposed to know he'd make up some weired shit like that?"

The raccoon nodded slowly.  
"Okay. Just be aware that the information comes with potential risk~

"Skip the qualifiers spy-guy and tell us exactly what's going on."  
Sergent Jhetar held his ground, keeping his eyes pinned squarely on the agent.

"It's... a little difficult to explain..."  
Rick rubbed the back of his head as he walked a rough circle.  
"Hassan, do you know what Operation Ahab was all about?"

The soldier acknowledged Cooney with a firm nod.  
"It was a counter terrorism _shock and awe_ scenario. Our goals were to neutralize a dangerous threat and send a clear message to those scum who would consider similar acts of violence in the future. Clean and simple."

"We have some of that 'scum' among us..."  
Rick stood in front of Kishu.  
"I need you to be completely honest right now. What made you participate in the Sector-X hijacking?"

For the wolf, answers came easily.  
"I got nothing worth hiding, I did it for the money. I was offered a huge bunch of credits for my services and the rest is history."

The raccoon held steady  
"Who hired you for the job? Someone must have hired you."

Kishu shrugged in indifference.  
"The guy's dead now, he was Security Chief Simeon on the crew. I don't know if that was his real name or not~"

"And who was paying Simeon?"  
Cooney pressed further.  
"A mere security chief aboard a prisoner transport couldn't possibly organize that raid with only his own resources."

The wolf shook his head, at a loss.  
"I... don't have a clue."

Rick stepped away to address Hassan and Kishu both.  
"Now that just doesn't add up. No one hires a group of 'terrorists' off the black market to carry out something like this, especially on such short notice. Terrorists act on principles and ideology, not for the money. What we have here is nothing more than ordinary thugs for hire, albeit on a slightly larger scale."

The Dagger soldier made the connection, and it blew his mind.  
"Are you telling me this whole hijacking mess was _staged?_ And Operation Ahab was just a dazzling show that Spec Ops put on for everyone?"

The raccoon considered it for a moment, then launched down this line of though.  
"I wouldn't go so far as to call the whole thing 'staged', but I would call it 'arranged'; both ends were almost completely legit on this. Cornerian Spec Ops Command truly believed they were bringing the hammer down on an act of piracy, and we're rightly meant to think it was terrorists since there is some public unrest over the Mt. Khali facility. I only wish it were that simple~"

"Hold on a second..."  
it was Kishu this time, trying to wrap his head around the concepts.  
"Why should anyone go through all that trouble at all? What does anyone gain by hiring a bunch of thugs to hijack a prisoner transport?"

"First and foremost: it's a distraction." Cooney answered quickly, "The media ate up the Sector-X incident like candy and it made headlines and top news item for weeks, blowing out every other story there was. I wouldn't be surprised if someone had a hand in bringing the press along for that mission."

Hassan was catching on, and began asking the right questions.  
"So if Sector-X and everything was a distraction, what from?"

"Did anyone hear about the Andross appeal?..."  
Rick looked to the tiger and wolf.  
"No, of course not. Everyone, including the news media, was still so shocked and awed by the whole hijacking story, that almost nobody noticed when Dr. Andross had his case quickly appealed and his pardon quietly granted. There is more to it, because someone made a mistake~"

Hassan scrapped a hand across his forehead.  
"Sweet Solar, how much more complicated is this going to get?"

Kishu  
"Let him talk big guy, sounds like this is the good part."

The raccoon waited, making sure everyone was done talking among themselves before getting back on track.  
"Before the ill-fated transport mission, there was some talk about reopening the old Andross case, and it was beginning to pick up some public steam. However, when it came time for Corneria to empty its prisons and cart their inmates over to Titania, someone put Dr. Andross on a list for transport along with a bunch of other names, probably without much thought. With the spotlight slowly creeping up on Andross, someone with influence acted very fast and very hastily to stop that prisoner transport from reaching its destination."

"Why is that such a big deal? Wouldn't it be easier to deal with after Andross arrived?"

Rick nodded at the wolf's question.  
"That, is what was bugging me for so long, I couldn't piece it together for the life of me. Then Rachelle here found something while you was being held at Mt. Khali. Tell them what you dug up sis."

Rachelle stepped next to her brother and told the two listeners what she found.  
"There were supposed to be a couple loads from Macbeth and Zoness already there, but there were so few inmates being held that I had to go hunting just to find even a handful. So I found the facility records and began to sift through them, that's where I found the missing link. The staff did a great job trying to hide it – deleting certain files, altering select pieces of data – but I still found enough scraps to back up my suspicions... Mt. Khali has been secretly loading their inmates onto transports and shipping them off-planet. It wasn't more than one or two at a time and I couldn't track down any destinations, but the prisoners were leaving quietly and they weren't coming back."

Rick picked up right where his sister left off.  
"If Andross got to Titania, the spotlight would've followed him there and drawn unwanted attention to all of the facility's dirty little secrets, including this issue with the missing prisoners. In short, the entire hijacking scenario was orchestrated to rip the public spotlight away from Mt. Khali and Dr. Andross, and throw it somewhere completely unrelated. For whoever is behind this, it provides a wonderful smokescreen behind which almost anything can happen unnoticed. One such happening more than likely has something to do with those vanishing prisoners, and I intend to find out what that's all about..."

The sky had brightened since everyone first arrived, what was once a dark navy blue was now quite pale. The blood red horizon to the east had opened up into shades of orange, goldenrod and bright yellow until finally, Solar's first rays burst over the mountaintops. The brilliant golden light struck all four who stood on that plateau as well as the Dionysus parked nearby, each casting shadows extending hundreds of feet along the rust colored ground.

After a few seconds admiring the Titanian sunrise, the raccoon wrapped up his revelation.  
"Well, that's everything I know up to this point. As far as we're concerned, this conversation never happened. Neither of you can tell anyone about this or you'll risk~"

"Don't worry about me..."  
Kishu looked out toward the glowing orb on the horizion.  
"It's not like anyone gives a shit about what I say in first place."

Hassan likewise looked to the rising sun in the east.  
"I won't talk either. Even if it did leak, I don't think anybody would believe this fish story... Hell, if I heard all that from anyone else, I'd of told them to stuff if with their wacko conspiracy theories."

Rick joined the other two in gazing at the breaking dawn.  
"There's a reason truth is stranger than fiction, it's because fiction has to make sense. People are far more willing to believe a plausible lie than an outrageous truth."

Rachelle stepped between Her brother and Kishu, and casually dropped an arm across both of their shoulders.  
"Sorry to interrupt the philosophical epiphany and all, but we really should get out of here before the search parties spring up."  
Just as quickly as she showed up, Rachelle Cooney stepped away from the group and crossed toward the parked spacecraft several feet away.

Kishu watched her for a few seconds, then his curious eyes fell on Rick.  
"So what happens now?"

The raccoon just smiled and cocked an eyebrow.  
"What are you asking me for?"


	19. A Paradox of Paradigm

_The biggest troublemaker you'll probably ever have to deal with watches you shave his face in the mirror every morning. _

-Proverb-

* * *

_**A Paradox of Paradigm**_

The building was one of several similar structures in this collection of high-rise apartments, and a common sight in the Corneria City inner suburbs. They were tall, somewhere between 50 and 60 floors, kept clean and circling a park in the center which they shared. The sky above was dark with the dead of night, and the stars that could make it through the semi-urban light pollution showed clear against the infinite backdrop. Lights shown out of a few windows of the apartment building while the rest remained dark.

Richard Cooney walked out of the building's lobby onto a clean concrete pathway leading to the street, donning his favored gray coat over simple casual wear. At the end of the walkway were a set of communal mailboxes, stacked together at the edge of the street. The raccoon stepped up to the mailboxes and swiped his access smartcard across one of the units, which unlocked and opened it. Being gone for as long as he had, Rick found several weeks worth of mail crammed into the little tiny rectangle~

"You've been an awfully busy guy, Ricky."

Startled by the sudden voice, Cooney slapped his mail unit shut and found Pete standing just to his left. The diminutive muddy furred rabbit was dressed casually, wearing a light jacket against the chill of the night. His age-worn face conveyed not necessarily an emotion, but a sharp focus.  
"Let's go for a walk."  
It wasn't an invitation, it was a command.

Pete started down the empty sidewalk. Following his lead, the raccoon stepped away from the mailboxes and followed close. After they traversed a few blocks away from the apartment complex along the street, Pete stopped, and looked into the starry sky above.  
"You see that big bluish white dot above the horizon, there in the east?..."  
The aging rabbit pointed out the object he just described.  
"That's Fortuna. Not counting that one and the planet we're standing on, there are another seven entire worlds crowded around this one star system. Each of them has a unique history, between millions and billions of diverse people, and a variety of cultures among them..."

Rick stopped alongside the old rabbit, joining him in watching the planet Katina – merely a brighter pinpoint amidst a thousand much dimmer ones.  
"Yeah, basic Astrography; stuff we all learned in grade-school."

Pete replied with a bitterness he'd been underplaying all this time.  
"Maybe you need a refresher course then, because you've obviously forgotten what exactly it is we do, or at least what we're _supposed_ to do..."  
The old curmudgeon of a rabbit started down the sidewalk again.

"This about my investigation, isn't it?"  
He followed after

"You bet your nosy ass it is." He replied over his shoulder, still walking away.

Rick quickened his pace to come alongside Pete.  
"What's with this change all of a sudden? You supported me at the sta~."

Pete sopped, cutting him off with a glare that could've felled an entire forest.  
"Are you out of your overactive _mind?!_"  
It wasn't much louder than a whisper, but he spoke with more intensity than even the loudest shouts could have.  
"I shouldn't have to remind you how touchy the Cornerian military gets when we dick around in their special forces."

The two started moving again. Avoiding eye-contact, they focused on the concrete sidewalk ahead of them instead.  
"I was only following a lead, it's all under control. When I needed to verify my asset's far-fetched claim with reliable eyewitness testimony, Sergeant Jhetar was the only one who could've given it that I had access to. I did my homework and ran everything by the book."

"I'd hardly call that jailbreak you cooked up 'by the book'."

Rick was subtly becoming more and more agitated, barely accelerating his speech in the process.  
"If I had him killed, there would've been a frenzy. If I left him there to rot, it'd only be a matter of time before someone got wise and traced him. A breakout was called for and Jhetar was both qualified and willing to carry it out. There's nothing unusual about any of that."

Conversely, Pete slowed his words down – drawing out each syllable.  
"But you didn't _have_ to dump your asset in Mt. Khali at all."

"And pass-up the perfect opportunity to investigate other avenues of the case? I don't think so. Rache and I dug up a few things while we were at Mt. Khali, something suspect _is _happening with that prison, something that warrants further investigation..."  
The raccoon looked over to his left, and found Pete still staring straight ahead, as if he didn't even care.  
"Are you even listening to me?"

They both stopped, next to a simple covered bus stop on the sidewalk.

Almost all of civilization shuts down in the extreme late hours of night, or the extreme early hours of morning. It was something of an unreal experience to stand by an empty street in the middle of a semi-urban residential district, surrounded on all sides by a loose cluster of tall but dormant buildings. Some noises of the nearby never-sleeping city center could still be heard, but the sounds were always submissive to the immediate silence and stillness.

Finally, after a long drawn-out period of silence, the elder rabbit spoke.  
"I don't mean to rain on your parade and all but... I've known about those vanishing prisoners for a good long time already..."

Richard Cooney did nothing, absolutely _nothing._ He didn't say anything, his body language remained mute, and he failed to show any other sign that he'd even heard what Pete said. The raccoon just stood there – motionless, as if someone had reached for a remote control and pressed the 'pause' button on him.

Without a response, Pete pressed on.  
"Oh come on! Did you _really_ think the timing of Andross's transfer was a simple accident? Did you have any idea _why_ the guys upstairs in Intel were so antsy about the mission? Why they wanted so many 'unnecessary precautions' in the first place? Everything you've done so far with your investigation – the layers you peeled away, the risks you've taken, the lives you put in jeopardy – it was all for _squat!_"

The signs of life gradually began to return to Rick. Though his body remained still, his breath came in slowly and deep, his eyes twitched with rapid minuscule movements – and when he spoke, his voice sounded detached, or distant.  
"...You knew?"

The elder rabbit gave a grave nod.  
"Earlier on, the Agency got wind of some rumors about something fishy over there in Mt. Khali, so they set up a simple operation to check it out. We were going to use Dr. Andross as a kind of 'media bait' to lure the press into the prison – letting the rabid journalists do the muckraking for themselves. We would've barely had to lift a finger, and Intelligence would've remained quietly tucked in the background like we're supposed to."

"Did you know I was sending Star Terrier into a deathtrap?..."  
The raccoon was coming back, and brought himself to look Pete in the eye.  
"Why didn't you tell me more about this operation? Why was I kept in the dark?"

"You were acting as a contract agent, you didn't need to know all the details."

"I _killed_ them Pete!..."  
Rick's voice rose to just under a shout.  
"And all because someone didn't think I needed to see the big picture to do my job! If knew what the hell was going on here, I could've had the team better prepared for their mission – the Star Terrier mercenaries could've been alive today!"

"Don't make this all about you Ricky! There still wasn't _anything_ you could've done..."  
The old rabbit eased himself down onto the bench in the bus stop, and began to explain himself.  
"I knew there was going to be an attack on the transport, but there wasn't even a hint at any sort of hijacking. As far as everyone was concerned, the raid just needed to be held-off and the operation would still be a go. I wanted to play it safe, and had you contract those handy mercenaries for the mission. You could drop those cunning bastards into almost any hot situation, and they'd figure out a way to work it out... or die trying."

"And so they did..."  
The raccoon slumped down on the bench next to Pete.

"Needless to say, the Agency had to abort the op when it all went to hell in a handbasket. The transport eventually turned up, and we let the Cornerians sweep up the broken pieces. Intel even made sure Andross was properly exonerated before he became an even bigger publicity problem."

Rick rubbed the side of his head, sorting-out all the pieces in his mind.  
"You knew about all this before, and you let me get carried away like some cheesy murder-mystery detective?"

The rabbit shifted uncomfortably where he sat.  
"When you came to me, you were just _itching_ to get out there and snoop around like a bad case of hives. So I let you scratch, figuring you'd hit a dead-end on Zoness and stop there. But no – you somehow managed to scrape that one survivor off the bottom of an empty barrel, and used him to fill in the puzzle. I have to admit I'm impressed, you're god-damned brilliant to make this far without blowing it, but the wild-goose chase has to stop here and now before it gets out of hand."

Cooney leaned forward.  
"Why? What are you so afraid of? Bad publicity?"

Pete shook his head.  
"I can handle a little bad rap, its the poor allocation of valuable resources that I won't stand by..."  
He scratched one of his ears absentmindedly before elaborating.  
"Peace, as most of us know it, is an absurdly fragile concept. There's about twenty billion-ish breathing feeling people living in this convoluted star system we call Lylat. Most of them are ordinary good folk who want nothing more than to carry on with the their day-to-day lives. Then there are those who'd rather be part of a conflict in which they stand to gain, almost always at the expense of ordinary good folk. Sometimes all it takes is one screw-up followed by a misunderstanding to trigger violence between two people, two factions, two nations... two _worlds..._"

'Colonel' Peter Rabbit looked up and eastward in the sky again – toward the bright dot of Fortuna, and a large hazy blueish patch just beyond it.

"...Between stopping needless wars before they have a chance to start and solving the mysteries of the universe, we have an obligation to pursue the options that will get fewer ordinary good folk killed. Lylat can't afford to have guys in our position doing something stupid to set off the whole system – it's our job to snuff-out the bomb fuses, not light them up."

Rick sat reposed in thought – his elbows rested against his knees, and his hands came together in front of his face.  
"Suppose it's one of these 'mysteries of the universe' that ends up triggering needless conflict; what do we do when that happens?"

Pete delayed his answer, fidgeting and avoiding any eye-contact.  
"Honestly Ricky, I probably won't have a chance to answer questions like that anymore. The guys upstairs have decided they're better off without me – Intel's letting me go."

Cooney sat bolt upright.  
"What?! No, they can't do this to you!"

The older rabbit nodded slowly.  
"Yest they can, and I can't say I don't deserve it. The whole sticky flop happened on my watch, and I've been more than a bit lax in my work over the past few years. So Intel gives me a lucrative severance package complete with an ironclad confidentiality agreement, which administration touts as 'retirement benefits'. It's just their quaint little way of showing me the door without making a huge fuss of it."

Rick looked away, still disgusted with his superiors' decisions.  
"Yeah that sounds like top brass: direct with their intentions, but subtle with their reasons and execution."

"Actually sounds like _you_ in a lot of ways."

The raccoon did a double take back toward Pete when he heard what he said.  
"Don't you compare me to those scheming, underhanded staffers in Administration. I'm nothing like them – I'm _different._"

"No, you're not..."  
The barest hint of a smile crossed the rabbit's face, and an eyebrow crept up.  
"Those staff officers were once ordinary agents just like you before they traded the rigors of field work for a desk, a comfy office, and the hellish stresses of decision making. You are no different from every other ambitious field agent poised to move up the hierarchy, except for one little detail."

Rick crossed his arms over his chest.  
"And what detail would that be?"

"You believe in the system so strongly and you're so devoted to it, that you think you know better than the folks handing you your marching orders. You've also got a tendency to take matters into your own hands with that belief in mind."

"Should I take that as a compliment or as a warning?"

"Both..."  
The rabbit exhaled a long sigh before going on.  
"This latest episode of yours shows that you're a dangerously potent combination of extremely inquisitive, persistent, and good at your job. If you keep these shenanigans up, you'll either rise to be a major agent of influence within Intelligence, or you'll find yourself at the bottom of a hole you dug yourself."

Rick scoffed.  
"Knowing my luck, it'll probably be both at the same time."

Pete wasn't in the mood for witticism.  
"This ain't comedy material Ricky. People get screwed over when we fuck up, and it's the _lucky_ ones that die. How many lives do you think you could've destroyed if those stunts you pulled didn't work out? How many delicate cross-planetary diplomatic relationships do you think you could've trashed?"

The Cooney matched the rabbit's gravity.  
"I was thinking about what could happen if I did nothing."

"If you did nothing, you wouldn't have been in a pickle in the first place."

"How was I supposed to know that?! You never told me I was sent on a _fool's errand!_"

Pete waved a dismissive hand through the air and shook his head.  
"This is going nowhere fast – we _both_ messed up royally, alright? At least _you_ were able to make it out of the crossfire intact... As the most qualified field agent in my chapter, LCI Administration will want to move you up to take my place as a Case Operations Officer. From then on you'd be running your own agents and assets that you recruit and train yourself, but I don't want you going _anywhere_ unless you're up to the task."

"I'm up to it... Dammit Pete, I'm up to it."

"We'll see..."  
The elder rabbit stood up from the bench.  
"Whatever happens, it's out of my hands now. For Lylat's sake you better hope the luck you live by doesn't run out... I'll see you around Ricky."  
He walked away.

"Yeah, you too."  
By the time he said it, Pete was too far away to have heard it.

In the absence of all else, the quiet stillness of the night took it's rightful place. Rick was left to sit alone at the bus stop, with only his thoughts to keep him company. Few things in life can bring someone down harder than the realization that everything they've worked so hard for has all been in vain.

_*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*_

Rick flinched at the sudden blare of his communicator, deafeningly loud against the surrounding silence. He pulled the comm device out of a pocket and answered the call, not bothering to check the caller.  
"This is Rick."

"_Crivens! Ye're a bit difficult tae get a hauld of lately. I must've called ye five times already."_

It was Scott, and he sounded anxious about something or other.  
"I've been kind of busy these weeks Scott... You know how it is."

"_Yeah I get it... Listen, there's somethin' I've got tae tell ye, an' I think it's pretty important tae yer investigation project."_

"What is it?"  
Rick perked up at the prospect of another lead, if only a little.

"_I'd rather talk about it in-person, and soon... now if ye can."_

"That depends, are you anywhere near the big C-City area?"  
The raccoon stood up from the bus stop, looking up and down the empty street.

"_I am actually; District 5 west, at the corner of 86th and Lakota."_

"That's not too far away, I can be there in about fifteen minutes."  
Cooney began the journey along the sidewalk with a restored vigor, leaving the deserted bus stop behind him.

"_I'm sorry about all this Rich... I really am."_

"No, it's alright Scott. It's no trouble at~"

*

The only thing he remembered was how cold the concrete felt against his face, and how much the back of his head stung as pain began to overwhelm him. The screams of agony spread quickly through his mind, obliterating all other thoughts and sensations in its path...

And then there was nothing at all...

-

* * *

-

Rick barely made it out after the building collapsed in on itself. Granted it wasn't much of a building to begin with out in the middle of nowhere – more like a cabin. The raccoon lay prone just beyond the stack of fresh rubble, the dust still settling around him. He tried to stand up, but his foot was caught on something behind him...

Rick followed the length of his leg, but it disappeared below the broken heap. Worse still was the pool of blood rapidly spreading out from underneath it – _his_ blood.

"Oh God..."  
With his heart-rate soaring, Cooney tried to pull his leg free from the jumble of broken beams and masonry, but to no avail. The limb was trapped, crushed beneath the tremendous weight of the destroyed structure. That's when the shooting pains started.

"Gahh!"  
Like a hundred rusty knives plunging into his leg, the wave of agony swept up and through his entire body. When Rick regained some sense of awareness, he heard something impossible...  
"You suuure stepped in it this time..."  
That was his voice, but he wasn't speaking.

Rick looked around for the voice's origin, and found what appeared to be himself, sitting comfortably on a hunk of rubble a few yards away.  
"You're not real... you cannot _possibly_ be real..."

The illusion of Rick stood up and swaggered toward his fallen counterpart.  
"What is reality, really? Not that it'll matter much in a few minutes. I've gotta hand it to you pal, we may have been in a few tight jams before, but this one definitely takes the cake."

"You're just the blood-loss talking, messing with my head..."  
He turned away, intent on the immediate problem of his leaking leg.  
_Remember the first aid: gotta stop the bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding, gotta stop the bleeding... maybe a makeshift tourniquet?...  
_The raccoon started to undo his belt for the procedure.

Meanwhile, the doppelgänger crouched down beside Rick and began to pick him apart word by inflammatory word...  
"Why do you insist on doing this to yourself? I mean, seriously: the contact said to meet you _alone,_ in the middle of the _wilderness, _with little -if any- outside communication. How did you _not_ see this as such an obvious setup?"

Cooney did his best to ignore the eerie sound of his own voice lambasting him while he slid the belt from the belt-loops of his pants, then he quickly stopped himself.  
_Hold on a second! Tourniquets don't even work on the lower leg!...  
_The raccoon slumped backward,hardly aware of the pain wracking his body as he did.

The illusion stood directly over Rick, staring him smugly in the face.  
"And now, thanks to your overeager urge to dig-up the answers and solve the puzzle, you are going to bleed to death out here before anyone even realizes you're missing! Great job!"

Cooney sat up and tried to concentrate on the worsening condition of his leg. His breathing gradually became more labored as blood kept escaping from the inaccessible injury, still trapped underneath the ruins.  
_Focus. Focus. Need to elevate the limb, apply pressure to the wound... but how?...  
_Then Rick's hand fell on the handle of pocketknife resting on the ground – it must've slipped off the belt when he was undoing it.

The raccoon's illusionary double bent over his shoulder, and continued to add insult to injury.  
"You ought to have died when everything came crashing down around your ears. It would've at least been quicker that way, not slow and painful like this..."

Cooney lifted the compact multitool from the ground and flipped-out its utility blade. His eyes bounced back and forth between his mutilated and immobile leg, and the knife in his hand.

"I suppose that's one option – end it all with one quick stab to the chest. A little on the messy side perhaps, but it'll get the job~"

"Fuck-off!..." Rick snapped, "I've got work to do."  
He took a deep breath, tightened his grip, gritted his teeth... and plunged the pocketknife's razor-sharp blade into his left leg some ways below the knee. A deep crimson fissure split-open in the skin as he carved through his own flesh, saturating the surrounding fur with what little fresh blood remained. If there was any pain, it was lost in the background of physical anguish already there... Rick finished the gruesome self-amputation process and pulled himself free. The splintered ends of leg bones still protruded from the soaked mass of muscle, tendons, nerves and the rest. Too desperate and too focused to be repulsed by the sickening sight, the raccoon tore off his shirt and wrapped it over the bleeding stump of his leg as a crude bandage.

With his condition more or less stable, Rick propped up his dismembered leg and allowed himself to relax. He'd lost too much of his blood to feel anything but exhaustion – not pain, not relief, not fear, not anger, not joy, not sorrow... only pure, smothering, exhaustion...

-

* * *

-

First there was the headache, squelching thought and concentration like a vice-grip on the skull, accompanied by a piercing ring in the ears. Both gradually moved into the backdrop of conciseness, then Rick tried to open his eyes... he couldn't see anything. He tried again... still black.  
"Am I dead?"

"Nope, I'm afraid not..."  
The answering voice was intelligent, witty, familiar... his own.  
"...not yet anyway."

"You again?!"  
Rick flinched at the sound of his voice, mocking him.  
"You were nothing but my misfiring, blood-starved brain last time. What are you posing as now? A concussion?"

"What do you care?" The other voice scoffed, "I'm not real, I can't possibly be real."

"What happened? Where am I?... I was just on the comm with Scott, and then..."

"Beats me."

"You're not helping."

"You haven't exactly been awe-inspiring yourself lately."

The raccoon tried to regain control of his mind, methodically assessing his environment and condition. His eyes must've been blindfolded, they felt fine. He was bound to a chair with thick nylon straps, hands separated – that'll make things a little harder. The legs were likewise bound, the unknown captor even had the foresight to remove Rick's prosthetic leg. On top of that, he was also deprived of all equipment, all clothing~

"I hope the kidnapper isn't some kind of sicko who's into bondage, or amputees – that'd be more than a little awkward~"

"Will you just shut up for a second?! I'm trying think of a way out of this..."  
The cold damp air, a floor which felt like bare concrete, and the garbled noises coming exclusively from above suggested a room like a cellar or basement...

"You know, I think you should've gone ahead and been a doctor, like you wanted to as a kid. Then you wouldn't have to deal with all these stupid perilous pitfalls you like to dig yourself into so much."

"This _really_ isn't the time..."  
Rick rolled his eyes under the blindfold.  
"Why don't you fade back into the subconscious where you belong, and stay there? It's not like I could've afforded med-school even if I wanted to..."

There were some muffled footsteps from behind a door, and someone speaking.  
"I must have hit him harder than expected, he's talking to himself..."  
It was a woman's voice, with an outlandish twinge to it.

Although he couldn't see anything with the blindfold on, he heard the door creak open on rusty hinges, then two sets of footsteps entered the room and a light switch was turned on.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Can't really say. Could be for a ransom, interrogation, the slave-trade, as a hostage, or any number of other reasons."

"All of which are wrong..."  
The blindfold was torn away from Rick, and his eyes were blinded by a single light shining in his face. The light made everything it touched obnoxiously pale, and hid everything it didn't in stark darkness. When Rick's eyes adjusted to the light, he found the figure of Chakori Uncia towering over him. She bent down to the Rick's eye-level, locking her eyes into the captive raccoon's with a piercing glare.  
"Do you know why you are here _now?_"  
The ashen-gray leopardess sported a black tank-top shirt, cargo pants, and a sturdy pair of shoes made specifically for traction and agility. You could tell a lot about someone by their footwear – where they were going, what they intended to do, what happened when they tried to do it...

"Didn't recognize the voice, but I'd know that charming scowl of yours anywhere, it looks _exactly_ like the image on your profile..."  
Cooney took his situation in-stride, exercising his knack for the verbally ironic despite his position.  
"So what exactly _am_ I doing here? And just how _did_ you sneak up on me like that? I'd normally know if I'm being shadowed, even by an expert which you clearly are."

The other hidden set of footsteps moved across the floor, and soon joined with a voice Rick did not expect to hear.  
"I's called a Personal Hypervector Accelerator, or _Phantom..._"  
A charcoal wire-furred terrier stepped into the pool of light. He wore a tweed sportcoat and plaid patterned flat cap. He was detached and apathetic in speech and demeanor, neither appearing pleased nor distressed with the circumstances.  
"Th' little gem works jus' like a spacecraft's jump-drive, only a wee bit smaller. Chakori was on top o' ye before the noise it makes even reached yer ears."  
Scott stood on the threshold between the light and dark, which threw a cacophony of shadows across his emotionless face... It wasn't like him at all.

Rick was absolutely dumbfounded.  
He was at the mercy not of an enemy, or a stranger, or a common thug, but the last person he'd ever anticipate: a trusted friend.  
"Scott, you've gotta help me out here!..."  
Not unlike the blindfold, the clothes, the dignity, and the cybernetic prosthetic leg on which he relied; Cooney's lofty facade of confidence was torn off and tossed out.  
"What the hell is going~"

The raccoon was cut short when Chakori's hand launched forward and latched onto Rick's muzzle, silencing him.  
"How does it _feel?_"

Rick scrunched his eyebrows in the universal expression of 'huh?'.  
"Hmmfh?"

The leopardess crushed his snout in her fist.  
"How does it feel to not have any control?.. not to see through the fog? How does it feel to know I can decide exactly when you die?... to be as helpless as the countless victims you slay?..."  
She released Rick's muzzle and drew her distinct forward-deflected kukri knife, bringing it to bear against the helpless raccoon in a threat.  
"Answer me."

"I didn't kill anyone~"  
*_Smack!*  
_Chakori smashed the flat of her blade against Rick's head. The kukri's heavy weight made the blow feel more like a hammer-strike than any sort of knife.

"That is a lie..."  
She started circling around the chair again.  
"Why should the soldier be punished for doing as he's ordered? Why should the assassin be punished for trying to make a living? Why should leaders be punished for doing what their followers want them to do?... Which brings us to the likes of _you_."

"What about me?"

The leopardess bent down behind Rick, nearly whispering in his ear.  
"You are a filthy creature of secrets and deception who plays tricks of the mind to get your way and manipulates others to do as you intend them to. The people, the soldiers, the assassins, and the leaders who they follow all look to your kind to decide their next move. You are the always first to know, and always the first to decide what should be done about it. The blood is on your hands just as surely as if you pulled the trigger yourself."

"What are you trying to tell me here?! I didn't do _anything~_"  
*_Smack!*  
_The blunt flat of Chakori's blade struck the back of the raccoon's head, aggravating the wound already there.

"That is still a lie..."  
The leopardess stood up and began circling again, but closer than before – spiraling gradually inward with each revolution.  
"You personally arranged for my comrades and I to accompany that 'escort mission'."

"I was acting under orders~"  
*_Smack!*  
_The blow opened a small split in his skin, and began leaking a thin red stream.

She was getting closer...  
"The attack and hijacking were arranged, and the trap was carefully laid."

"I didn't know about~"  
*_Smack!*_

Closer...  
"Dagger, a detachment of Cornerian military Special Forces, was deployed as the final nail in the coffin."

"Not by me~"  
*_Smack!*_

"But you were there..."  
Closer still.  
"...and then you descended into the depths of the sea and boarded the ghostly shipwreck yourself to make sure it had gone as planned – a grave mistake on your part."  
She wiped a red smear off her kukri knife, and slipped the heavy blade back into its scabbard.

"No, I..."  
Rick was a mess, his face was pockmarked by a collection of bruises, lacerations, and red lines of coagulating blood trapped in the fur. He looked up and saw Scott Aberdeen standing exactly where he was before, and exactly as he was before: impassive, vacant, ambivalent; absent of any apparent feelings.  
"Please Scott, tell her she's wrong about these things! Tell her she's got it all _wrong!..._"  
The silent terrier didn't give Cooney anything more than a passing glance.  
"Talk to me Scott!"  
Other than his slow and steady breathing; nothing...

Pleased with herself, the ashen feline crouched down in front of Rick, her eyes frozen in remorseless disdain for her captive.  
"I have been told that certain people are 'fearless', or 'do not know the word fear', or are somehow immune to the effects of fear. One of those kinds of people is supposed to be a covert intelligence agent... I don't know how anyone could even imagine such falsities, because you Richard are the very _face_ of fear..."  
She advanced on the raccoon, forcing herself upon his helpless form and closing within an inch of his face.  
"I can see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your voice, I can smell it in your breath, I can feel it in your pulse..."  
Chakori lunged her face forward, closing the space between their lips. It was not a kiss – her invasion of Rick's mouth was not any sort of sensual display of affection, perverted or otherwise. It was nothing short of a complete demonstration of supremacy... after far too long, she finally ripped her jaws away from his.  
"I can even taste it on your lips: you are _afraid..._"  
Retaining every ounce of malice about her, the ashen leopardess stood up and backed away.  
"How is it that such pathetic little men like you are trusted to meddle in the fates of worlds?"

Rick was panting heavily – his bare chest heaved, his heart raced, and was beginning to soak in his own cold sweat from the shock of what had just happened. Even so, the raccoon was able to produce a rebuttal.  
"You're right, I _am_ afraid..."  
From the swirling depths of his fear, Cooney extracted a commanding voice of power and fired it on all cylinders.  
"...I'm afraid that if something isn't done, everything you see around us could collapse on itself and fall apart. I'm afraid that if I don't find a way to stop the fighting before it starts, it will swell beyond any reasonable control and consume the lives of countless innocents. There's enough small-time shit across the worlds as it is, the last thing Lylat needs is for entire populations of people to slaughter one-other in the name of their governments. I'm afraid for the mothers and fathers who will lose their children, the brothers and sisters who will lose their siblings, the sons and daughters who will lose their parents, and the friends who will never see each other again... I am so afraid of that horrible God-damned scenario, that I will do everything within my ability to make sure those fears don't _ever_ become reality..."  
In spite of his utterly powerless position, Rick was able to speak with confidence, assurance, and a determination that few can muster even under the most ideal of circumstances.  
"...I may be afraid, but I happen to _thrive_ on my fear."

Chakori remained quiet for some time – clearly intrigued, but not deterred.  
"Tell me little man, what do you know of Karma?"  
She approached again, carefully.

Rick was back to his wise-cracking self.  
"I know that I don't care for mystical philosophies."

The ashen gray leopardess shrugged dismissively  
"No matter, it is a simple concept: _I__f we sow goodness, we will reap goodness; if we sow evil, we will __reap evil..._ You have sown the seeds of deception, manipulation, fear, pain, and death all throughout your career; and you have done so under the false guise of 'Peace'. Now the dead you planted in the grave have risen to bring justice to their silent murderer..."  
She drew her kukri knife once again, and pressed its razor-sharp edge against Rick's bare throat.  
"The crop has come to fruition, thus your bounty shall be rightfully repaid."

_*Blam!*_

A blaster shot erupted out the center of Chakori's forehead, barely skimming over Rick as it flashed past. The shot left a gaping blackened hole clear through the leopardess's head, along with the stench of her burnt flesh and brain-matter. The body went limp and collapsed, settling on the cold floor by the raccoon's one bare foot.

"Karma's a bloody bitch..."  
Scott held his large-bore blaster handgun where Chakori's head had been only moments before. The terrier spoke so quietly and with such powerful undertones of regret, that his voice no longer seemed like his own...

He turned away from Chakori's lifeless corpse, and Rick's naked beaten form – utterly ashamed. For a while, Scott Aberdeen just stood there with his back to the horrors he helped create. He didn't say a single word or do a single action for so many tense, unbearable seconds...  
"I'll uh... I'll get ye some pants..."  
And then he left.


	20. Rock Bottom

_I don't measure a man's success by how high he climbs, but how high he bounces when he hits bottom._

-General George S. Patton-

* * *

_**Rock Bottom  
Part I**_

The air was hot, dry, and thick with fast-moving dust – even though he was barely aware of it. The ground kept on moving beneath his feet – even though he wasn't walking. A roar of engine thrusters was somewhere nearby – even though he barely heard it. He watched the loose dust and sand beneath him give way to parched, hard-packed dirt – even though he could barely see it. Soon, the harsh air and the brightness became someplace cooler and less bright.

People were shouting, and they were moving all about...

"Who is this? What happened here? Speak up, medic!"

_A medic? Is this a war-zone or something? _

"Vulpine male, early to mid twenties. Severe trauma to the chest and abdomen, multiple rib fractures with extensive pulmonary contusions and internal bleeding. By my assessment, he's somewhere between stages three and four of Hypovolemic Shock. No spinal injury though, lucky."

_A lot of those sound pretty bad... Are they talking about me?  
_He coughed out of reflex, and tasted the thick salty-metallic liquid that must've been his own blood.

"This guy isn't one of the enemy is he? Sure as hell looks like one of them."

_Enemy? What if I am?... that could be awkward._

"No sir. I don't know his name, but he's a damned-fine hero as far as the medevac crew and I are concerned."

_A Hero? What the heck did I do?! Is that why I'm all screwed-up now?... Whatever I did, I'd better make sure not to do that again... This really sucks._

"Alright, okay, just get him on the exam bed and let me get a look at him..."

His limp body was shifted around, he couldn't focus on anything while it was moving. Some sensation that must've been pain sprung up here and there, yet it didn't bother him as much as it should've. By the end of it, he was staring straight into an obnoxiously bright light with a trio of silhouetted heads bustling about. They poked, prodded, and moved in such a flurry of activity...

"Good lord you weren't kidding, there's hardly any flowing blood left in him. By all rights he should be dead now... Well don't just stand there admiring his constitution, let's get an IV line in this hero of yours! I'm gonna need a liter of normal saline, another liter of canid universal and some oxygen. _Move it!_"

Some of the figures dashed off, some stayed... But all of them were so busy, so determined...  
_Why? What are they trying to do again? Where the hell am I anyway?! Why the fuck isn't my mind thinking anymore?!_

"_Shit_ he's gone into cardiac arrest! Get the paddles!..."

_Paddles?_

"Clear!"

The bright light suddenly wiped out everything, and he was left with a completely blank page.

-

* * *

-

-Some greater time earlier-

The miniaturized tree was a wiry deciduous variety with its branches – barely distinguishable from its trunk – twisting away in a generally upward direction from its firmly planted roots. The dwarf-tree's leaves were thick and flourishing; too thick. If nothing is done, the small plant will overgrow and won't be able to sustain itself within the confines of its pot any longer. Without careful attention, it would wither away and die...

Martino Banderos opened a drawer inside the display table in which there were a collection of very small gardening implements. The bull removed a tiny pair of shears from the drawer and began to selectively trim away the excess leaves, thereby protecting the tree from its own adventurous ambitions. So often do living things not know their own limits, and so often would they blunder beyond those limits without a helping, knowledgeable hand to guide them...

"_Señor, there is someone here who would like to see you."  
_The secretary's voice carried through the office's PA/intercom system.

Martino continued his meticulous pruning as he replied to his secretary.  
"Can this wait? Is this person so important that he need not schedule an appointment like everyone else?..."  
He swapped his shears for a small brush, which he used to sweep leaf clippings off the display table.

"She _is a diplomat from the local Papetoon embassy, and she has made it explicitly clear that she would like to speak with you as soon as feasibly possible... which according to your appointments and schedule is now. Shall I send her in? Or shall I send on her way?"_

With the display table cleaned off, the bovine executive returned the brush to the drawer it came from.  
"Is she clean?"

"_A little pushy, but completely harmless."_

Banderos stepped away from the bonsai display by his office window, thoughtfully stroking his chin as he did. After some consideration, the bronze-furred bull gave a nonchalant shrug.  
"Sure, send the lady in."

The double doors opened up and the mystery guest entered. She was a dignified gazelle with a goldenrod fur-tone and dressed in a conservative midnight green pantsuit. She held herself in the stately manner of a practiced public speaker, but sans the typical arrogance of a true position of power.

Martino crossed in front of his oversize desk, greeting the guest in his grand hostly fashion.  
"Welcome good Señora to the offices of Banderos Venture Investments and Financing. I am Martino Álvaro Rico Estavan Banderos: Chief Executive, namesake, and philanthropist in my spare time. To whom do I owe the pleasure of your company today?"

The two exchanged a professional handshake while the guest replied.  
"Jazelle Adelaide, Diplomatic Envoy to Corneria on behalf of the Papetoon Planetary Republic... such as it is."

The bull cocked a curious eyebrow as he led Jazelle further through his lavish office.  
"That introduction doesn't sound quite as confident as I'd expect from a dignified lady of your high standing. If you do not mind me asking – what is it that troubles you? And what brings those troubles here?"

"Your concern is greatly appreciated Mr. Banderos, and to be perfectly frank about my troubles: Papetoon is a mess..."  
She stopped, and waited for Martino to do the same before continuing.  
"Government control of my planet is steadily deteriorating into anarchist insurrection, especially throughout the vast rural areas. The most prominent of these militant groups call themselves the _'Murrinh-Patha' – _they're some sort of revolutionist movement_. _Our military and policing forces are under-equipped, undermanned, and spread far too thin to effectively handle the escalating situation. My world is in desperate need of foreign aid to remain stable, and you sir are in an optimal position to provide some of that aid."

The bull shook his head slowly.  
"I'm afraid you may have come to the wrong place Miss Adelaide, you should appeal your case to Union Congress. Leave the politics to politics and the business to business."

"But it's precisely a matter of business which brings me here..."  
Jazelle was clearly a shrewd negotiator, determined to have Martino to hear here out before dismissing her.  
"We've already presented our case to the senators of Union Congress, but they've decided to shove their heads in the dirt and turn a blind eye on us. Since no foreign powers will assist my world, we have to take matters into our own hands. So in order to bolster our strained budget in these trying times, the Papetoon Planetary Republic is opening the sale of treasury securities to foreign buyers. Given your philanthropic views and strong command of the investment market, I sincerely hope you will find the sympathy to lend a helping hand in our darkening hours. Think of it as an investment toward peace and stability in the Lylat System – surely you'd advocate for peace, wouldn't you?"

Banderos was skeptical, needing more information before committing himself.  
"And how exactly does your government plan on using my 'investment'?"

"In order to reverse this declining trend, we mostly need specialized medical equipment, modern communication networks, up-to-date weapon systems, and other advanced equipment we simply aren't able to produce on Papetoon. The PR alone could more than payback your contribution."

"Somehow I doubt any amount of war materials will ever truly stabilize a planet, and the PR for sponsoring armed conflict is dicey at best. I'm honored that you want my help, truly, but I do not think this is for me."

The diplomat wasn't about to yield from her proposal, not when she was so close.  
"Mr. Banderos, the Murrinh-Patha's insurrection is undermining our most valuable exports and grinding our raw-materials based economy to a standstill. They're quite literally stealing pieces of our planet, shipping them offworld to goodness knows where, then using the profits to further fund widespread guerrilla campaigns. If we can't export, we can't import. If we can't import, we can't advance the development of our world. If we can't develop, we can't defend ourselves. And if we can't defend ourselves, we _will_ fall victim to these demagogic revolutionaries who can easily strongarm a weak state..."  
Beneath her dignity, her composure, and her spirited determination, Jazelle Adelaide was deeply worried. Some might even say she was frightened.  
"You have to understand, the planet of Papetoon _needs_ these war materials in order to free itself from the clutches of thieves. Lylat can't afford to have our bountiful world become another Zonessian free-for-all..."

Martino took a few seconds, chewing the speech over in his pragmatic mind...  
"And you mean to tell me the Lylat Union Congress actually _ignored_ this plea for assistance?"

Through the tiny cracks in the diplomat's professional composure, a few hints of bitter contempt were able to seep out into her words.  
"For them, It's as if we don't even exist."

The bull was moved by Jazelle's dilemma, and by the desperation of the meager government she represented. No planet should have to bend to their knees and beg for charity, not like this...  
An idea lit-up in the his mind, and he had a change of heart.  
"I might know what the problem is."

The gazelle's eyes lit up slightly.  
"Care to share?"

Martino led her toward the small meeting table off to one side of his office...  
"It seems to me Miss Adelaide, that your government is not only fighting a guerrilla insurgency, but also a systemwide public relations battle – both of which are in jeopardy. Simply buying more weapons and sending more soldiers out to fight will not win over the hearts and minds of foreign interests. Would you turn your world into a totalitarian regime to ensure control over your exports? Even if it means you will have deal with newer and more powerful revolutionaries thane these Murrinh-Patha in the future?"  
He took a seat at the small meeting table, and gestured for Jazelle to do the same.

"Are you suggesting an alternative course of action?"  
She joined the bull, sitting opposite him at the table.

Banderos laid his elbows against the tabletop, lacing his fingers together.  
"I am suggesting you go back to the Union Congress and try your heartfelt sales-pitch once again. But since you cannot bend the senators to your will, you should instead break their hearts. "

"I beg your pardon?"

The bovine businessman released a light chuckle and a smile.  
"Words alone mean so very little to the modern public with attention-spans short enough to fit comfortably inside a second. It would benefit your government greatly if you diversified your marketing strategy by circulating images, sounds, and stories to compliment your currently hollow words. Show the people across the worlds firsthand what terrible perils your planet's citizens must face."

"The media..." She realized "But the mass-media has consistently overlooked sparsely populated Papetoon for years. What makes you think they'll bite this time?"

"Given the gravity of your world's predicament, what makes you think they won't? The newsmen always enjoy a good drama, regardless of it's origins... If you are interested, I can provide you with some introductions that should prove most beneficial to your cause."

Jazelle nodded, full of relief.  
"I'd like that... thank you."

"De nada, mi Señora buena..."  
Banderos snapped his fingers, and his holographic computing interface materialized in front of him.  
"Shall we begin?"

-

* * *

-

James McCloud released a latch in Fang's hull, and opened one of the weapon housing panels. The heavy blaster cannon inside appeared mostly intact, except for one detail. The weapon's muzzle cap had completely melted into a deformed, drooping chunk of steel on the end of the barrel.

The fox released an annoyed sigh, and began to disconnect the weapon's power input, command interface, and magazine-charge feed.  
"I know what you're going to tell me Peppy...."  
After the 'soft connections' were severed, James then used a ratchet-wrench to undo the bolts keeping the blaster cannon in its place.

"Do you now, Jimmy?"  
The gray hare was standing a few feet behind near a mobile workbench, wearing a smug little smirk on his face.

The fox nodded over his shoulder.  
"You gonna: say _'I told you so'_..."  
He hefted the heavy blaster out of Fang and hauled it over to the workbench.

Peppy cleared a space off the surface.  
"I was thinking more along the lines of _'That's what you get for overclocking your rate-of-fire by 20 percent'..._ but you're in the basically ball park."

James laid the malfunctioning weapon on the workbench surface and went about detaching the deformed muzzle component from the blaster.  
"It's not like it's _completely_ my fault. The manufacturer said this thing could handle higher firing rates."

"But _only_ in short bursts at a time, not in continuous fire like you always do..."  
The hare shook his head.  
"I swear Jimmy, you can cause almost as much damage to our own gear as you cause the enemies."

"Keyword: _almost..._"  
With a little elbow-grease, James successfully coaxed the ruined muzzle cap off the barrel.  
"I'll just go into the workshop and get replacement for this. Would you mind checking the rest of the cannon, in case I fried anything else?"

Peppy shrugged.  
"Might as well..."  
He picked up an electrical multimeter off the workbench and began further diagnostic work on the blaster cannon.

-

The hangar's workshop was a smaller room off to one side, but much more densely packed. Every square inch of every wall was stacked thick with something: a plethora of various tools, bins of small parts, shelves for larger ones, or cabinets stuffed with heavier equipment. A permanent workbench took-up what little open space there might have been – behind which Pigma Dengar sat hunched over, engrossed in another one of his own little projects.

"What'cha bust-up this time?"  
The swine didn't even turn away from his work.

"A monopole muzzle-cap for an Aran Arms Type 42-C heavy blaster cannon."  
James playfully tossed the malformed piece of metal into the air, catching it before it fell to the ground.  
"We still have a few of those, right?"

"Type 42?..."  
Pigma turned around on the stool, holding a soldering-iron in one hand.  
"Yeah – bottom row, third bin from the left."  
He pointed toward the wall-sized rack of parts bins, then swung back toward his private work. It looked something like an oversized gunstock or mounting with spade grip handles, but without any weapon components attached.

James fished the fresh part out of the bin and discarded the other into a scrap can. He was on his way out, but lingered near Pigma for a bit, curious.  
"I'm a little worried to ask but, what exactly is this... _thing_ you're working on?"

"Oh this?..."  
The swine gleefully installed a router panel into the large and empty gunstock.  
"You're gonna love it."

The fox scoffed, skeptical.  
"Do you mean the same way I _'loved'_ your plasma toilet bowl cleaner?"

Pigma shrugged-off Jame's bantering.  
"At least you got a laugh out of it, that's better than nothing huh?..."  
He picked up his latest adventure in jury-rigging, a heavy-duty tripod mount, another case, and maneuvered the whole jumble out the workshop onto the hangar floor.  
"But I guarantee this is gonna get a 'wow' from you."

James followed behind him, but cautiously.

Pigma noticed Fang's uprooted weapon, still on the mobile workbench several feet away.  
"_Sweet deal,_ you still got your blaster cannon out! Could you do me real favor and haul that sucker over here?..."  
He set down his assorted suspicious knickknacks and began piecing them all together.  
"You gotta test-fire it anyway, why not make it useful at the same time?" He said, pointing out a patch of the hangar's wall painted with a target – heavily scorched from so much past weapons-fire...

"I hope you know what you're doing."  
The fox walked off toward Fang, both worried and curious about it all. There was never any telling what that dangerously prodigious young swine could cook up. Brilliant, practical, absurd, crazy; all these adjectives came to mind, but they also just barely missed the mark somewhere...

After about a minute or so, James McCloud returned to the makeshift firing position with the bare aviation-grade blaster cannon slung across his shoulders, now with a brand-new not melted muzzle-cap attached.

Pigma's rig was mostly setup now: the tripod stood deployed, the empty gunstock mounted, and the mysterious cases hooked into it all with a cluster of tubes and cables.  
"Awesome, now just drop'er there between the brackets..."  
The heavy weapon was set down, secured in the mounting, then connected to a set of power, data, and magazine feeds...  
"You know how there's no room to haul bigger weapons aboard the fighters in those lockers called 'cargo bays'? And how we _never_ have enough heavy firepower when we gotta touch-down and work on foot?"

James nodded, all too aware of that dilemma himself.  
"It's a little inconvenient sometimes, but we make do."

"_Well,_ no need to be inconvenienced anymore, cuz' this baby solves that problematic problem type thing..."  
The eager swine threw the power switch, and the dormant weapon blinked into life.  
"Instead of 'making do' with whatever small arms you can fit in the cargo cubbyhole, you can just unpack the fighter's whoop-ass firepower and rig it up to this handy portable system. Better yet: the whole kit-and-kaboodle collapses down to fit snugly into all sorts of teeny tiny cramped storage spaces. Now is that _wicked_ or what?"

It was a little unorthodox maybe, but the completed rig looked a lot like many typical infantry support heavy weapons. For all intents and purposes, fightercraft weapons were essentially the same as conventional firearms, just mounted differently and in larger calibers.

James absentmindedly rubbed the back of his head, intrigued by Pigma's ingenuity.  
"I guess that's pretty neat, but does this crazy thing actually _work?_"

The swine gripped the handles of his handiwork and hungrily aimed the whole setup toward the wall target.  
"We're about to find out..."  
He pulled the trigger.

A line of blaster-fire spewed out of the cannon's muzzle, screaming across the hangar bay to strike the target. The noise was deafening, amplified by the echoing inside a large enclosed space. Then there was the heat, steadily building up in the weapon from continuous fire. With the heat came the burnt metallic stench of hot steel...

James noticed all this, and had to shout at the top of his lungs to make himself heard.  
"_Okay Pigma! You can stop firing now!_"

"_I can't!_" He yelled back.

"_What?!_"

"_Something's fucked! I can't stop it!_"

The swine held the trembling blaster cannon as steady as he could, but Pigma's grip wasn't a problem. The clamp holding everything together gradually shook itself loose, and the heavy weapon slipped out – still flinging blaster-fire all about as it broke free.

In a flash, James dove on top of the loose cannon and yanked out its power feed. Without electricity to power its firing mechanisms, the out of control weapon was quickly quelled. Everything fell awkwardly silent as they both recovered from that momentary flash of fear.

"Whew!"  
Pigma scrambled to his feet, both relived at his safety and ecstatic at his success.  
"So maybe there's still a kink or two to smooth out, but man does it _work!_"

"Dammit Pigma! Are you _trying_ to get us all killed?!"  
Peppy Hare sprung out from behind some nearby overturned cases and stormed toward the firing position.

The portly swine recoiled as Peppy closed in on him.  
"Whoa chill man, I'm just trying to help out here~"

"By blasting heavy weapons at us and all this machinery?!..."  
The fuming hare gestured broadly, indicating the dormant fighters parked around them.  
"How could that _possibly _help?!"

Under the pressure, Pigma got defensive.  
"Hey easy pal, I was just shooting duds! You don't _actually_ think I'd do a fire-test with a live charge, do you?"

"Even _blanks_ are ionized, you fat dope!"  
Pigma's rebuttal only made Peppy angrier.  
"If you got hit with one of those blasts, it could _still_ mess-up your living tissue."

Pigma rolled his eyes.  
"Oh _sure,_ just like an X-ray machine can cause _cancer!_"

The argument was degrading into a petty shouting match, and James finally put his foot down between them.  
"Shut the hell up! Both of you!"  
The fox's flinty outburst silenced the , but their voices kept on echoing around the hangar for a few seconds before it all went quiet again.

"But Jimmy, he~"

The fox cut off Peppy before he could begin.  
"I know he sometimes forgets a few things, but Pigma really _was_ trying to help us out. Take it easy on him will you?"

The portly swine stood awkwardly off to one side, not sure what to do with himself.  
"Umm..."

James turned to Pigma with an annoyed sigh.  
"Let's be honest, you _did_ get a little carried away there and you _need_ to be more careful with your projects, especially when they involve deadly weapons of any kind..."  
He bent down and hoisted the weighty blaster cannon over his shoulder. The fox walked off with his burden, leaving Pigma and Peppy to their own devices...

"Hey you know what McCloud? why don't you let me bring that sucker in?..."  
Pigma started to follow James on his way back to Fang.  
"I can double-check it for any faults and fix it up good as new for you~"

Peppy put his arm in front of the overeager swine, holding him back.  
"No it's okay, you don't have to bother..."  
The hare had calmed down into an almost apologetic state.  
"I already looked the cannon over and everything checks out – the problem's gotta be with this nifty doodad of yours... If you can get it working right, we might have a real tactical advantage out there."

Pigma began to gather-up the pieces of his rig.  
"So does this mean you ain't totally pissed at me anymore?"

"What's past is past..."  
Peppy shrugged.  
"For all the hassle, it's probably best we caught the glitches now instead of in the heat of real combat. I mean, imagine the hell if we lost control like that on the job: friendly fire, unnecessary casualties, the list goes on... But that's why we screw up in these tests, so that we don't screw up in the field when others' lives are at stake."

"Thanks for the heads-up anyways. No hard feelings, right Peppy pal?"  
The swine lifted the bundle of his work, clearly struggling to hold it all at once.

"Here, let me help you with that..."  
Peppy took hold of Pigma's heavy case containing power and magazine feeds for his system.  
"...We just need to keep this thing professional, _all_ of us."

The two of them were beginning to leave the hangar floor when Scott's gruff voiced barked over the loudspeakers.  
"_Listen up you lot, we've got a possible client out in the lobby here. So gather yerselves up in the front and we'll get to work."_

-

* * *

-

Scott released his finger from the intercom  
"They're on their way now."

The older terrier was on reception duty, reluctantly. He was sitting uncomfortably behind a simple desk in the modest lobby of Star Fox's charter service building. The spaceport's landing field and gigantic terminal complex was clearly visible outside the main windows, bustling with thousands of passenger flights and freight shipments. By comparison, the small building leased to Star Fox seemed little more than a drop in this infinitely large bucket.

Jazelle Adelaide stood opposite Scott on the other side of the desk, still in her midnight green pantsuit.  
"Do you always speak to your coworkers like that?"

"We don't mind it." The charcoal terrier answered nonchalantly. "High-brow etiquette in't exactly a necessity in this business. If ye wanted fancy manners and all that, ye could've called us tae the embassy instead."

The gazelle shook her head and chuckled at the idea.  
"If I did that with all the commotion we going through, you'd be on a five hour long waiting list at least. It's simply more convenient for me this way."

"Fer us both..."

Peppy, Pigma and James all entered into the lobby, still dressed for mechanical work complete with dirt and residue stains to prove it.

"So you must be the client..."  
The fox approached Jazelle with a businesslike confidence – he'd fully taken the role of leader to heart.  
"I'm James McCloud, Star Fox unit commander. The others with me are Peppy Hare, Pigma Dengar, and you already met our senior member, Scott Aberdeen."  
James gestured toward the terrier behind the desk, then returned his attention to the client.  
"You'll understand if I don't shake, my hands are kinda dirty. Fighting machines need a lot of hands-on attention to work at their best you know."

"It's quite alright Mr McCloud..." The gazelle relied. "You're obviously very dedicated to your profession, which is exactly what I'd expect from reputable contractors such as yourselves."

"And you would be?..."

"Jazelle Adelaide, Diplomatic Envoy to Corneria for the Papetoon Planetary Republic. Your financier highly recommended your mercenary unit for my needs, I'm here to assess and potentially contract your services on behalf of my government."

"What kind of services do you need exactly? Marty wouldn't send you here unless he knew you'd need our services."

"After some discussion, the Lylat Tribune has agreed to send a correspondent and small crew to Papetoon to cover the degrading situation against the Murrinh-Patha on my world, but only on the condition that they would be adequately protected. We'd normally embed the media in one of our military squads, but we don't have the resources to ensure the crew's safety in the field without compromising actual military operations. That's where you would come in."

"So you need someone to babysit some reporters in a hot zone for you, is that what you're getting at?"

Jazelle nodded, launching into details  
"The Lylat Tribune crew will operate almost completely autonomously while on Papetoon. They'll need both close infantry support when they're on the ground, as well as aerial escort when en-route to a site. I'm told Star Fox is quite capable in each of these roles, correct?"

"Very capable Miss Adelaide, and for an equally competitive rate to boot."

"Good, good."  
The image began to blur, fading steadily into obscurity...  
"The mere presence of a force such as yours is sufficient deterrent against most potential attacks, but you should nonetheless be prepared for a fight at any moment. Journalists particularly are a favorite target of guerrilla militants, and it's always a tragedy when newscasters become the news themselves."

The voices – they sounded so distant, and getting further away...

"You can count on us... "

It wasn't in focus at all, and all fading into white...

"Then it's … ~'re hired. Now, if we … just go ov~ … ~tails of … ~ntract...

…

… _standard rat~ … apply … _

… …

_What~ … you mean? …_

… … …

_I'm~ … some kind of~ … _

… … … …

… _pleasu~ … ~ith you … _

… … … …

… … …

… …

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

It was steady rhythm: two large, flowing pulses followed immediately by simple tone. The repetition seemed reassuring somehow, but also perilous at the same time. Why should noises like that cause such relief and such alarm simultaneously?

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

Something began to fade into the white nothing.  
It was blurry, and difficult to make out. Were those people? There was no way to tell.

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

"Scalpel..."  
That sounded like a voice, it had to be someone's voice. Maybe that voice belonged to the hazy figure over there, all covered in white...  
What the heck would he want a scalpel thing for?

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

"Begley you useless idiot, he's coming around! Get some anesthetics in him before he hurts himself any more than he already has."

A name... pretty weired name too...

"Sorry Dr. Clark~"

"_Today,_ Begley!..."

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

Something was placed over his face, darkening the view.

"Out of _all_ the surgical assistants available, I have to get saddled with _you..._ now pay attention..."

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

It all began fading back into white...

" … can't … something … this … "

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

Even the voices grew dimmer...

" … trying … lives … "

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

_Thump thump _… _*beep*_

…

Everything went back to silent white nothingness.


	21. Rock Bottom Part II

"_It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air – there's the rub, the task" _

-Virgil-

* * *

_**Rock Bottom  
Part II **_

_GOD FUCK!  
_Pain.

"But Dr. Clark, we _can't_ give him anymore morphine, he's over his body's tolerable limit already. Any more and he'll _die..._"

"If we don't suppress the pain, he'll go into shock and die anyway. At least his nervous system has a fighting chance with the morphine."

_STOP IT!  
_A crushing, piercing, rending, obliterating sensation – that's all there was.

"We've done everything we can, he has to fight this on his own~"

"NO! I am _not_ going to loose another one to the fighting out there, not after we've come so close with him, not after the service he's done for us – we _owe _it to him goddammit!"

_Someone please! MAKE IT STOP!  
_All other thoughts, all other sensations were swept away in a riptide of pure agony.

"If you have any suggestions, I'll hear 'em … "

" … He can be safely transported back to Corneria for further treatment if we induce a coma to stabilize him first. Maybe they've got some newfangled medicine over there that'll help him … Dr. Clark, we are getting wounded soldiers coming back from the field in torrents and they _need _our attention. We can't save everyone, but maybe someone else can save this guy."

_I'll do anything, ANYTHING! Just take the pain away! … TAKE IT AWAY!_

"Alright, let's do it... I need 200 milligrams of thiopental, stat."

_I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE! _

"Its gonna be alright Mr. McCloud … We're sending you back home … You hear that James? … You're going home!"

_I can't!... I can't... can't..._  
The flood of pain gradually drifted away, and its absence left nothing at all...

-

* * *

-

"Oh _no,_ its not like that at all..."  
He shook his head.

The solder was a blunt canine with blotched reddish white fur. His short-sleeved desert camouflaged uniform and exposed fur were practically infused with the local dust. He sat wearily on a row of sandbags overlooking an arid expanse of flat dusty land dotted with hardy trees and tough shrubs.

"What do you mean?"  
Victoria Goura held the microphone closer the soldier. The avian journalist dressed in a tough, loose-fitting outdoors outfit, but with a flex-armor vest over over it.

The camera panned back to the dusty soldier.  
"Its not about controlling an area of land, or a specific point on the land – it's about controlling the supply lines that _cross_ the land."

Goura's voice was heard off-camera to the left.  
"Supply lines?"

The weary canine confirmed the journalist's query with a nod.  
"All armies, conventional or not, absolutely must have supplies in order to keep fighting. They need weapons, ammunition, fuel, medicine, a source of food, and in this climate especially, water. It all has to get moved from one point to another out here for any sufficient combat force to sustain itself."

"Is that why this camp is set up here?"

He looked out over the hot, dry landscape and the camera did likewise. It was a good long way down the slope, and the sparse trees across the flats almost appeared to dance in the heat-shimmer from evaporation.  
"This zone is a kind of logistical bottleneck. The salt flats to the east beyond are too open for the enemy to risk trekking over and exposing themselves. The mountains to the west behind us offer plenty of cover, but are nearly impassible and impractical for a reliable ground-based supply chain. What we have here in front of us is a kind of middle-ground: the scattered trees offer some degree of visual cover, yet still allows for the swiftest possible mobility..."  
The soldier turned back to Victoria and the camera.  
"By disrupting the enemy supply chain, we'll deprive the Murrinh-Patha's fighting force of basic needs like spare parts to fix their gear, ammo to shoot, food to eat, and water to drink. They're given the choice to die by our fire, die out here of starvation and thirst, or give up. It's a tactic far more efficient and less risky than a blind assault into territory that the enemy knows so well."

"That kind of treatment seems a little harsh, don't you think?"

"Orders are orders..."  
The dirty canine soldier shrugged.  
"Besides, is it any less harsh than having an entire planet's infrastructure sucked dry by those parasites? Let's see how _they _enjoy being whittled down to nothing."

The bulky communicator attached to the soldier's uniform burst to life with a static-filled voice.  
_"Hawkeye four to Dingo six! Do you you copy?"_

He raised the comm to his face and replied quickly.  
"This is Dingo six. What's your status Hawkeye?"

"_Three bogeys incoming, southbound and closing fast... They're supply runners Sir!"_

'Dingo six' looked across the arid plains to the left. A trio of billowing dust columns streaked across the flatlands amidst the widely spaced trees, a wheeled off-road truck raced through at the tip of each erupting cloud.

"Looks like someone wants to try running the gauntlet..." The soldier brought his comm back up to his face as he barked his orders into it. "Denzel, get the mortar team blanketing the zone with firepower! Walker, send a bushmaster unit to intercept! Carling, I need your rangers out there on counter-ambush, you _know_ it's coming! Whatever happens, don't let those bastards through!"

A refrain of _'Yes Sir!'_ responded through the comm's speaker and the soldiers all around snapped into work. The first barrage of mortar rounds fired off some distance away in a ringing fluted chorus as each explosive package was flung into the air. The dusty soil on the flats sprang up in dirty plumes when the mortars struck ground, but the three streaking runners weaved through the loose woods and around each explosion with ease...

A line of three lightly armored all-terrain vehicles painted in military camouflage screamed down the dirt road next to the camp toward the plains below, throwing up a torrent of dust as they passed. Two were equipped with heavy blaster mountings on the top hatches for infantry to use, and the third was armed with a row of missile launch-tubes. The bushmaster vehicles were gone and away as fast as they came, racing off to catch the runners in a dramatic high-speed chase across the outback...

James McCloud stood about ten feet from Victoria Goura and Lylat Tribune crew, busy capturing video footage of the ensuing battle. The fox was in his usual forest green two-piece with an assault rifle slung on his back – he omitted the jacket in the heat, leaving his arms bare to the elements instead. He watched the scene through a pair of digital binoculars, the two vehicle formations scurrying and weaving between the trees as they gradually converged on the dusty plains...  
"I don't like this..."

"If don't mind my asking; what don't you like about it?"  
Peppy Hare was nearby, similarly dressed and holding his shotgun steady.  
"The dust, the heat, the dryness..."

The vulpine mercenary lowered his binoculars, letting them hang around his neck.  
"I can deal with the elements, it's these roundabout tactics that I don't like."

The gray hare came alongside James.  
"This ain't our battle to fight, we have a job to do here and we need to do _that _first and foremost."

"I'm telling you Peppy, the Murrinh-Patha uprising would've been nipped in the bud long ago if this was Corneria..."  
He turned around toward the Papetoon Planetary Army camp. The mortars kept on lobbing explosives into the desert below, some soldiers were busy with communications or errands; but most of them were simply watching the conflict play out, and waiting for something to happen.

James McCloud returned his attention to his old friend...  
"How long do you think they can just keep chipping away at each-other like this? It's only a mater of time before someone tries something desperate out there."

Peppy could only shrug as he tried to reassure his uneasy fellow mercenary.  
"I dunno Jimmy, they're doing the best they can out here – Papetoon doesn't exactly have Corneria's sculpted military muscles. Maybe these news fellas can shed some light on the situation and draw attention, but we gotta protect them, make sure they can get the message out."

"By the time anyone hears about this, there might not be anything left worth fighting for..."  
James brought the binoculars back up to his eyes, and he watched as the two streaking dust clouds came closer and closer on the flats. He noticed something on one of the runners' high-end 4x4 trucks, but it was difficult to make out through the dust it kicked up. The fox switched on the binocular's thermal imaging systems for a better look. The thermographic image revealed a transmitter array mounted on the back of the truck, and it began to glow with a rapid buildup of heat, of power output...  
"Oh no..."  
James dashed away from his position and called out to the soldier called 'Dingo six'.  
"Call off the attack! Your guys are heading straight into a trap!"

The commanding officer waved James away,  
"Listen mercenary, this is _my_ battlefield. You're more than welcome to fight my wars for me so long as you go through PPA command for your bloated paycheck first..."  
'Dingo six' sighed and turned his attention out to the desert below.  
"You do the job you're hired for, and I'll serve my world with honor and dignity."

Frustrated, the fox slapped himself in the forehead.  
"We don't have time for this bullshit, one of the runners has a _jamming array. _Your boys are all gonna lose contact out there any second, and they won't be able to coordinate like they need to... You could at least _warn_ them if nothing else."

The blotchy furred canine rolled his eyes and activated his comm transceiver.  
"Dingo six to Hawkeye four, please advise the operating units they might hit a comm blackout and have to operate blind..." He shot a scornful glance toward James. "Happy now?"

"_Hawkeye four to Dingo six, you're a little late sir. We just lost contact with the ranger and bushmaster units a few seconds ago. What are your orders?"_

A clattery explosion on the flats below drew their attention. It wasn't clear exactly what happened, but there was an awful lot of oily black smoke mixed into one of the speeding dust columns. The remaining vehicles kept swapping blasterfire between them as they charged through the loose and dusty woods at their breakneck speed. Then one of the military vehicles careened a way in a jumble after barely nicking a tree at high velocity~

"_Orders, sir?"_

"Dingo six to Hawkeye four, tell the medics to prepare an ambulance party for extraction and await further instructions..."  
He turned to confront James, eyes aflame with quiet disgust.  
"Stay out of my way mercenary, and don't fuck with my operations ever again."

-

* * *

-

James woke up.

It wasn't a normal wakeup. His every being wasn't trying to drag him back into sleep, he didn't slam his hand on some alarm clock like he normally would've. In fact, he didn't feel the slightest bit tired at all.

James stood up.

He didn't get out of bed, or stumble up from the ground, or collapse off a sofa. He was simply on his feet, or at least that's what it felt like.

James looked around.

It was a hospital, definitely a hospital. Nowhere else would've had the walls painted such a sterile shade of off-white. The other giveaway was all the equipment: monitors, machines, a whole lot of pouches with liquids in them, which hooked up to another medical doodad with a bunch of tubes coming out. All these tubes dangled down and~

_Wait a minute..._

James saw himself.

All these tubes, these monitors, these machines; they all connected to what looked an awful lot like the body of James McCloud. The body was still, laying on a plain white hospital bed and partially covered by equally plain white sheets.

_But I'm out here... right? _

One of the monitors clearly showed the rhythmic pulse of the body's heartbeat, but the heart-rate seemed naturally slow.

_Okay, so I'm not dead... must be dreaming..._

The door to the room opened and two people filed through, familiar people...

First was Peppy: fidgety, nervous, and looking anxious enough to burst under the pressure. It's not like this is the first time he's seen near-death up close and personal. Combat experience is supposed to desensitize people to death and danger. For Peppy however, it seems to have made him rigid and uptight – he really needs to lighten up, the poor guy...

Second was Scott: cold and melancholy as he's generally been since Sector-X. Nothing really bothered him anymore, but nothing really seemed to excite him either. The terrier looked at James' still form the same way he'd look at a pile of unpaid bills, or a broken piece of machinery. It's unfortunate, but it's just something that happens. Living past so many others' deaths will grind a man down like that...

Pigma wasn't in the room. He was outside the hall window, staring blankly at James' immobile body on the bed with a confused look to his face. The ambitious, barely adult swine wasn't entirely familiar with the hell of combat, and it showed. Should he be scared that James almost died? Relieved that he didn't? Worried that he still might? He was lost and in unfamiliar territory, but not yet so lost that he'd ask for directions, or maybe he doesn't think he needs any...

Peppy and Scott were next to the bed now.

The Hare spoke first, needing to get something off his chest.  
"It didn't have to be like this..."

Scott nodded.  
"Ye're right, he could be dead and gone instead."

The terrier's dry witticism did little to calm Peppy; if anything, it made him even more of a nervous wreck.  
"I could've done more for him though. There were so many times I could've saved him from all this trouble, but he kept telling me to 'stay back', to 'stay away'. Alsost like~"

Scott shook his head and released a quick groan.  
"It's not what ye think, the lad was just trying tae coordinate the attack as best he could. He needed ye where ye were, and it might've made all the difference..."  
The terrier laid a hand on Peppy's shoulder and looked directly into his eyes.  
"It wasn't yer fault, and he's not even dead, so don't go crucifyin' yerself with survivor's guilt..."

"This was a lucky break, even the doctors say he should've died..."  
The hare broke off rubbing his head.  
"If I could go back, I'd do so many things differently in that fight."

_Come on Peppy old buddy, you gotta help me out here. What fight are we talking about? How the heck did I end up in that bed?_

Scott came alongside Peppy again, slowly.  
"We _all_ wish we could go back and change things – keech knows _I_ would'nae mind rightin' a few wrongs of me own. But ye're stuck playin' the cards that life deals ye, fucked or not."

Peppy let out a little chuckle to himself.  
"Knowing Jimmy, I can tell you he just bluffs his way through life."

_Of course I do..._

Scott shrugged.  
"If bluffin' wins the hand..."

_It does, that's why I always beat you at poker Peppy._

The hare turned back around, addressing Scott more directly.  
"But what if someone calls his bluff? I don't want him doing something stupid and getting himself killed out there."

A weak smile came across the aging terrier's face.  
"Ye'd be surprised how many times 'stupid' but determined wins the fight – just take a look at politics fer example. Ye can at least thank yer lucky stars the lad knows how not tae die, or he'd have killed himself a _long_ time ago..."

They were interrupted when the door opened again. It was a doctor, or some other hospital staff  
"Excuse me, but we need to prepare the patient for transfer. You'll have to wait outside."

"Sure, no problem. Do whatever you need to do."  
Scott and Peppy headed out the door.

_No, guys wait! You still haven't said how I got here. Shit, I don't even know where 'here' is! You can't just leave me hanging! Come back!..._

James tried to follow his comrades out of the room, but only got to the door frame before everything flashed back into silent white nothing.

-

* * *

-

Five spacecraft flew through the early evening atmosphere of Papetoon. The largest and most obious of them was an unarmed courier craft with the words _Lylat Tribune_ prominently painted on the hull. The other four were the mismatched and varied collection of Star Fox's fightercraft, currently in escort formation. The party wasn't particularly high or low in the atmosphere since traveling point-to-point on a planet doesn't require a complete break into orbit and reentry.

"_Ha! I _knew_ I recognized you guys from somewhere. Decided to strike it out on your own did we?"  
_It was the avian journalist Victoria Goura on the comm.

James shrugged in general agreement.  
"You could say something like that..."  
The vulpine pilot sat relaxed in Fang's cockpit, now wearing his full flight regalia as the group made their transit across Papetoon.

"_I don't blame you fine folks for going independent, seriously. I did some freelance work myself before joining up with Lylat Tribune. The freedom was pretty swell while it lasted, even if the money wasn't always reliable."_

The fox nodded back. The topic wasn't exactly interesting, but it was a stretch better than long awkward silences.  
"For sure, it's got its pluses and minuses..."

"_Yeah..." _Pigma butted in,_ "Like how everyone in uniform assumes we're all just a bunch of greedy sleaze-bags. I mean really, where do they come up with this crap?"_

"_Do yerself a favor Pork chop and clam-up, will ye?"  
_Even over the comm, one could almost visualize Scott with his face in the palm of his hand.

"_What? It's true I tell ya."_

"_That treatment seems a little odd..."  
_Victoria sounded as if she had more to say.

"How so?" James encouraged.

"_Thing is, people see freelance journalism as a noble and dignified profession, yet you say the freelance soldier is seen as selfish and blood-thirsty. Then the opposite is true for larger armies and broadcast companies... From where I'm standing, the whole thing looks pretty counterintuitive."_

The fox stroked his jaw, intrigued by Goura's comparison.  
"I guess that is kinda weird, I just never thought about it like that."

"_Hold on a second, you're Vixy's latest catch aren't you? James McCloud?"_

"Umm... yeah."  
He'd forgotten that the journalist was a close coworker of Vixy's, and this dove seemed like a talkitive one...

"_You best treat her good now. A nice hard-working young lady like her deserves better than some flake, take it from me."_

"Can we please leave my personal life off the comm? It's not professional."  
He was grasping for excuses. Except for possibly Pigma, James McCloud was among the least 'professional' of the team...

"_It's not as if we have anything better to do until we get where we're going. You're not embarrassed by it are you?"_

"No... it's... uh~"

"_Fellas, I'm picking up something on the comm. Sounds like it's getting real nasty down there."_

A part of James was almost relieved Peppy burst in over the comm like that – _almost._  
"Patch us in, let's hear it."

At first the channel was clogged with static, until a frantic voice found its way through the white noise._  
"… ~been hit by some kind of long-range SAM system! G-diffus~ … ~ems compromised! We'll have to make an emerg~ … ~ding in the __Mandurah __salt flats! Need immediate extraction and suppor~ …"  
_Then it cut out completely – no white noise, nothing...

"_Its a heavy airlift transport, headed for one of the PPA forward operating bases for a resupplying mission before it was downed..." _

"_Supply lines..."  
_It was Victoria.

"What about them?"

"_One of the officers I interviewed said this conflict with the Murrinh-Patha was all about controlling the supply lines. Whoever controls the transport of supplies effectively controls the battles."_

"Thats sounds like the military doctrine of constriction: if logistical support is cut off, then the army can't put up a fight."  
"Maybe the Murrinh-Patha have gotten wise to it – turned the PPA's own strategy against them..."

Peppy came back on the channel, being the bearer of bad news once again._  
"I'm seeing a huge kick-up of dust in the south heading for the flats. It's some kind of vehicle formation, and it don't look too friendly. My money's on them aiming to loot the transport since they didn't shoot to kill..."_

James looked out toward the south, and there was indeed a towering column of airborne dust in that direction.  
"Break off and recon that formation Peppy, see what what kind of firepower they're bringing to the party."

"_Gotcha Jimmy."  
_The interceptor Thumper banked away and dove down at an impressive speed, disappearing from view in seconds...

The fox opened a general broadcast channel.  
"To any PPA forces in the area, this is Star Fox one. We've picked up a distress signal from one of your airlift transports over the Mandurah salt flats, hostiles are inbound. Do you require any assistance?"

After a few seconds, he got a reply._  
"__This is __Major Gillespie of the PPA to Star Fox one: t__hat's a negative, no help needed. An armour platoon has already been deployed and is en-route to intercept the aforementioned hostile force. Carry on with your normal operations mercenary, we can take care of ourselves."  
_Gillespie cut himself off, showing some subtle contempt for McCloud.

Peppy chimed in from his end._  
"They're coming onto the flats, I can see it clearer now without all the dust..."_  
The hare listed off his findings over the comm.  
_"... Looks like there's a bunch of high-speed rigs, a few mobile anti-air systems, some heavier armor, and... Oh my god..."_

"What's up?"

"_You're not gonna believe this but, they've got a mech down here – a Katinan Zmeya class _Battlemech!_"_

"_Crivens, the last time I saw one of those walkin' monsters was durin' the Titanian conflict..."  
_Scott spoke with the worried recollection of a veteran._  
"It stands 75 feet tall, weighs 300 tons, is highly mobile, tough as nails, and packs enough firepower tae level a city. An armour platoon don't stand a lick of chance against that ravenous beast."_

"_This is of no concern to you mercenaries..."  
_An unfamiliar voice came into the communications channel, presumably someone from the Murrinh-Patha._  
"Back off, keep your distance, and we'll do likewise. You will not get another warning."_

"Form-up Peppy! Get out of there before they change their minds!"

"_Fine by me."_

James tried to get a hold of the PPA again, more urgently this time...  
"Star Fox one to Major Gillespie, are you aware the hostile Murrinh-Patha force is being led by a _battlemech?_ Your guys are heading straight into a meat grinder out there."

"_This is Gillespie... We just confirmed... Shit... It's a battlemech alright..."  
_He was a far-cry from the confident solder James had spoken to not a few minutes earlier. _  
"But how the hell did they get one? These tramps weren't supposed to have access to advanced combat systems like that..."_

"It doesn't matter _how _they got one, what matters is that they _do _have one and it's gonna blow your armor platoon into spare parts without some serious opposition. Star Fox is easily within range, let my unit take care of that mech for you."

"_... They're moving too fast for an artillery strike, and our air support's too far away... Hmm..."  
_The unseen commander paused, struggling with his choices..._  
"Okay mercenary what's your price? How much is it going to cost us for you to make that goddamn mech disappear?"_

"Nothing, this one's on the house."

Gillespie didn't believe his hears.  
_"Bullshit."_

James couldn't help but laugh a little at the hardened soldier's reaction – he didn't have any reason to believe the fox's claim...  
"Our contract is already bought and paid for by your government's treasury, we don't need any more money. Now do you want that Zmeya classbattlemech trashed or not?"

"_... I only wish there were a few more honest mercs like you guys out there. Good luck Star Fox, Gillespie out."  
_The officer closed the channel

James let the silence drag on for several seconds, trying to find an easy way to say it... There wasn't one.  
"Peppy, I'm gonna need you to hang back with the press for this."

"_Huh?"_  
The hare sounded as if he was cheated out of an opportunity._  
"But Jimmy, I can fight'em!"_

The fox did his best to quickly explain his decision, anxious to act fast...  
"These cowboys probably have a long range SAM system, or whatever it was they neutered that airlift transport with. The press'll be easy pickings if we all rush in at once. You _have_ to stay back and intercept any missile sent their way, that's what we were hired for in the first place."

"_But why me? Why can't you just leave Pigma behind for that?"_

"Because Thumper is better equipped to take out incoming missiles... and I trust you more than anyone else get this right. Can I count on you?"

It was a few moments before Peppy resigned himself to his role._  
"... I won't let you down Jimmy."_

"You never do Peppy..." James replied, reassuring his old friend.  
"Scott, Pigma, let's move it out!"

_-_

* * *

-

Leftover from a recent rainstorm, a sheet of water no thicker than one or two centimeters covered the entire Mandurah salt basin on Papetoon. It effectively turned the flat landscape into an endless, flawless mirror. The horizon – the division between sky and ground – was virtually nonexistent; one could almost believe they were standing on the sky itself. The complete surreality of it was blemished only by the bent and battered PPA airlift transport, crashed into the mirror's surface some distance away.

This was the view presented to the battlemech's serpentine pilot. The slick reptile sat strapped into a seat behind the war machine's elaborate instrument panel – slender hands grasping the controls. The serpent guided his steel monster across the reflective surface of the salt flat as a loose crowd of assorted accompanying vehicles swarmed around it.

"_Damarri__, the mercenaries are moving in for an attack." _said the voice in his headset,_ "Are you prepared to combat them?"_

Damarri swiveled the mech's upper segment left, and spotted the dots of inbound fightercraft in the distance.  
"It is of little consequence, they will be swatted them from the sky like frail insects. May freedom guide you..."

"_...and may it give you strength. The Murrinh-Patha shall fight on."_

-

* * *

_-_

Three distinct fighters skimmed low and fast over the flooded salt basin, along with nearly perfect duplicates flying parallel in their reflections below. One seemed suspiciously ordinary, another loomed large and powerful, and a third – the formation's leader – cruised steadily but with pent-up tension.

"Alright guys, here's the game plan..."  
A collection of scurrying dots began to creep over the invisible horizon far in front of the fighters.  
"Assuming these guys are smart, they'll try to draw our fire toward the biggest perceived threat, the battlemech, and pick us off with anti-air systems. So our first priority is to neutralize their AA capability."

"_What'd ye have in mind lad?"_

One of the dots was considerably larger than the others, and kept growing with each closing meter.  
"Reverse the tactics. Draw their close in anti-air fire away and hit them with a sucker-punch." James began, "I'll take some strafing runs over their normal ground units, make a lot of noise and draw attention to myself. That's where you come in Pigma."

"_Oh yeah?"_ the swine responded with just a hint of elation.

"I need you to disappear in your stealth cloak, then dive on the AA units while they're distracted with me."

"_Crafty and Underhanded, two of my favorite things..."  
_The unassuming form of Gizmo flickered with static and faded, until it vanished completely – invisible._  
"When you're ready for me to jump outta the cake and crash the party, just say when." _

That left Fang with just Nessie, patiently rumbling onwards next to the smaller coiled-spring of a fightercraft._  
"What about that mech? Its not just goin' tae sit there and watch, ye ken."_

"I know Scott, and neither are you."

"_I think I see where this is goin'..."_

"It's unusual for a jug like Nessie in most situations, but you'll take the pestering role. Keep your distance most of the time but the second you notice that battlemech lining up to lay down some fire, give it a big fat slap in the face with your choice of heavy firepower."

"_Can do... And if I start takin' anti-air fire meself?"_

"We'll rotate the bait, hook and pester roles during combat as needed, then regroup once the anti-air units are neutralized to focus on that mech. But remember that speed is key, take any openings you spot if it'll move things along faster... Any questions?"

"_Aye, I got one: Can we get on with it already?..."_

And none too soon. Fang's instruments warned James of incoming missiles 8000 meters away and closing – easy enough to avoid in a head-on engagement. 6000 meters. The vulpine pilot jammed the throttle forward, racing to meet the warheads in a deadly game of chicken. 4000 meters. Only a few seconds more... 2000 meters. He could see the the missiles streaking straight for him. 1000 meters. At the last possible moment, James rolled away and rocketed Fang into a steep climb while the bolting warheads overshot behind him...

Since lumbering Nessie lacked Fang's agility, Scott dealt with the missiles in a more direct fashion. He flew directly toward the incoming missiles same as James did, but fired on them in volley mode – with all barrels of the gatling blasters shooting at once. The heavy weapons filled the space in front with a dense spread of blaster-fire, pelting the surface-to-air missiles until they detonated harmlessly far from the terrier's fighter.

"_Oh Shit! Look at that thing!"  
_Pigma didn't have to deal with any missiles since Gizmo was still in stealth mode, and they were all close enough to clearly see the target now...

The Zmeya class battlemech dwarfed all the other vehicles scuttling about. It stood on a gigantic pair of thickly armored reverse-jointed legs, supporting the main and independently swiveling 'torso' segment nearly 35 feet off the ground. The 'torso' bristled with a variety of heavy weapons including a block rocket tubes, a cluster of blaster cannons, and a shockingly large particle beam projector...

Above it all, James looped Fang out of his steep climb, pointing the fighter straight down at the swarming formation...  
"Don't be intimidated by its size, that's exactly what they want from us right now."  
He began a corkscrew dive, picking up tremendous amounts of downward speed...  
"Stay fast, stay low, and stay focused on those AA systems. That's where they'll try to get us."

James spotted a group of eager vehicles gunning for the downed PPA transport, and widened out to line up a strafing run against them. Once in-position, the fox laid a line of blaster-fire across the scattering mass as he skimmed low over it. A few of them were hit, most weren't, but the fear sent them scrambling all over the place instead of gunning for the kill as they were.

Not surprisingly, James drew a great deal AA cannonfire as Fang pulled out of it. Strings of laser-fire sprayed into the sky trying to catch the nimble fightercraft.  
"Now Pigma!"

Gizmo rematerialized above the battlefield diving straight for one of the anti-air units.  
_"Eat this and kiss my ass, sucker!..."  
_He launched a bomb and quickly climbed away before disappearing back into Gizmo's stealth cloak. The bomb hit its target dead on, obliterating the mobile anti-air unit in an explosion of burnt and twisted metal.

James found he wasn't taking AA fire anymore, the remaining units were combing the sky looking for Pigma – an opening. The fox wrenched Fang toward one of the self-propelled systems and boosted forward, spewing a stream of blaster-fire into the distracted vehicle. It wasn't completely destroyed, but its systems were damaged enough to eliminate it as a threat.

The third and final ant-air vehicle burst in a shower of shredded metal, ripped open by an high-velocity armor piercing shell...  
"Scott, did you pop that one?"

"_I saw an openin' lad, and I took it just like ye said tae."_  
The terrier's hulking fighter pulled out and away over his handiwork._  
"Now what'd ye say we carve up that steel stilt-walkin'~"_

_*Crack!*_

Nessie's shields overloaded, collapsed, and its right side fuselage was struck by a high-power particle beam fired from the mech. The flying juggernaut didn't seem to take much structural damage, but the oily black smoke pouring out of it's wound signaled other problems.  
_"Ach fuckin' bletherskite! It's all overheatin' on me!"  
_Any lesser fightercraft would've likely been completely decimated by such firepower.

"Pigma! Lets see if we can draw the mech's fire and keep it distracted!"

"_Are you crazy or someth~"_

"Just _do it!_..."  
Fang and Gizmo swooped in with guns blazing, buzzing around the colossal battlemech like a pair of angry wasps...  
"Now Scott! Get outta here while you can! We'll take out this mech."

The heavy fighter circled idly some distance away, but kept close enough for combat.  
_"Not yet, I can still fight. We just have tae make this a quickie, a one-shot-kill."  
_Nessie's shields flashed online again.

"But you're burning up! And how the hell are we gonna knock out a battlemech in one shot? It's impossible!"  
The steel behemoth of a battlemech swiveled and stomped about the soaked salt flats, all while spraying angry streams of blaster-fire into the air to swat James and Pigma down...

"_Wake up and smell the smoke lad! We can either scratch this beast quick, or we can get us, that armor platoon, and whoever's still in the transport all killed. So what'll it be?"_

"What do you have in mind?" James asked, rolling away from a sweep of the mech's blaster-fire.

"_Do ye know the shield-shucker maneuver?"_

"Yeah, but that's for crippling a space cruiser."  
The fox made a pass at the battlemech firing a harmless, but annoying volley of blaster-fire into it's impervious deflector shields.

"_It should still work on a mech though..."_

Maneuvering Fang in combat was second nature to James. Pure muscle-memory did most of the actual flying for him, which left a large portion of his mind free to make the needed tactical decisions...  
"Let's do it."  
He banked away hard, directing Fang to where Scott circled in the distance.  
"On my signal Pigma, break-off and clear-out."

Gizmo was left behind to distract the mech a little while longer. The swine deployed the holographic 'ghost' of his fighter to throw-off the walking steel monster even more..._  
"The sooner the better!"_

James quickly lined Fang up right behind Nessie's hulking hull – the mech on the other side several hundred meters away.  
"Now Pigma!"

Gizmo darted off, vanishing behind its stealth shroud on the way out. Scott then Fired his heavy fighter's engines at full, bearing down on the towering Zmeya class battlemech with James following dangerously close behind...  
_"Ye're only gonna get one shot at this lad! Make sure it counts!"  
_With Nessie still bleeding smoke while it rumbled onward, the manic terrier opened-fire on the colossal mech with the gatling blasters in full-auto. The parallel torrent of fire caught the battlemech on its side, and it reared its face toward Scott to return a line of fire of its own. The two juggernauts faced each-other down, each swapping weapons-fire with the other as they came closer and closer – each grinding away at the other's deflector shield...

Scott's shields were weakening fast, almost on the verge of collapsing again. Just when it seemed old Nessie couldn't take any more strain, the terrier fired his cruiser-grade railgun at close range straight into the mech's cockpit 'face'. Scott's final shot struck only deflector-shields over that area, which flickered out as it just barely, partially, collapsed – completely unprotected.

"_Shuck it!"_

Scott veered away quickly, which left Fang screaming straight for the mech at nearly point-blank range. Without a moment to waste, James pulled the trigger for the bomb-release~

_*Crack!*_

Another particle beam from the mech burst completely through Fang's deflector-shield and tore the fighter's left wing clean off. Smoke, sirens, and all other sorts of warning signals filled the cockpot. James was losing control and had only moments left on a unalterable kamikaze-course. He could see the battlemech's serpentine pilot, flinching in fright as he realized his own demise – as he realized James' demise with him~

He ejected.

James McCould rocketed upward out of his doomed fighter strapped to the ejection seat. The sheer impact of moving so fast through the open air nearly blacked the fox out, numbing his awareness. By the time the vulpine pilot was fully conscious again, he was drifting lazily toward the mirror-like ground after his parachute deployed itself automatically.

The fallen Zmaya-class battlemech lay behind him – a slain steel giant, bleeding a plume of black smoke into the sky above. All the other enemy vehicles were scattered away, as if they were roaches exposed to a flashlight. They all fled every which way now that their great mechanized protector lay dead~

A hostile 4x4 light truck with a mounted blaster on the back was heading straight for the parachuting pilot, and the gunner spotted him. In the awkward position of the ejection seat, James hastily drew and armed his handgun while the figure on the truck aimed his own mounted blaster back at him...

_Arm extended... Firm handshake grip... Line up front and rear sights with the target... Compensate for movement..._

James took the shot, watching the blazing red bolt streak away as it found its mark – right in the target's head. The dying gunner managed to fire a few shots from his weapon in his final throes. Though he missed James, the shots still burned through some of the parachute's lines.

The right side of the parachute canopy flailed upwards, and the fox began descending much faster and with little control. That truck was still coming at him at a high speed, apparently not even aware of James as he came closer and closer on a collision course. With only a few feet to go and less time, the fox yanked on the left side lines of his parachute with both hands to jerk out of the way~

_*Slam!*_

It only half-worked.

A corner of the speeding vehicle barely grazed the side of his chest, but even the slightest nick is potentially lethal at such high speeds. Ribs were splintered, a lung was crushed, and his insides began to fill with leaking blood. James and the ejection seat were sent spinning away from the sudden impact for a seconds until crashing onto the soaked, salty ground below where he toppled sideways.

The jolt pierced the fox's chest with the stabbing pains of his own shattered ribs, detached from the rest of the ribcage and slipping all over the place on their own. James unbuckled himself from the seat and collapsed onto the hard, wet ground. Between the stresses of combat, the ejection's G-force shock, and the sheer disorienting pain of wrecked ribs, James McCloud was a jumbled mess the likes of which no mortal body should ever be forced to endure.

His vision began to fade, along with sound, smell, taste, and touch. He was barely aware of the frightened voices screaming into his headset, or the rumbling tanks and supporting vehicles from the PPA armor platoon swiftly closing in from the west. He was soon not even aware of the bright sun, or the soaked salty ground, or of anything at all...

-


	22. Rock Bottom Part III

Author note:

For anyone unaware, there have been some significant alterations to the story, especially in what is now chapter 16 (formerly two separate chapters). Please review at least that chapter and possibly later ones so you won't be thrown off by these new developments.  
Thank you for your understanding.

-

* * *

-

_**Rock Bottom **_

_**Part III** _

Several people passed by them in a large, clean corridor; some in white lab-coats, some in simple green medical scrubs, some in street clothes. The droll PA system paged for a doctor – a hospital. Rick Cooney and Scott Aberdeen strolled idly past a row of plain chairs while they talked at length about what had happened.

"So Jim's gonna pull though then. I had no idea he was even working, I just got so caught-up."  
The raccoon sat down on one of the chairs.  
"In light of these... recent events, I think you and the team should take a good, long, break from direct combat. Maybe take up some softer PR contracts, find a few sponsors, anything to get away from the life-and-death situations for a while. There's only so much trauma that even someone like you can handle."  
Rick had seen his fair share of worse and better days. His face bore a collection of freshly treated wounds from the night before, but there are some wounds of the mind that can't be sewn back together with a simple needle and thread...

"I'll be fine Rich." Scott joined him.  
The charcoal terrier looked straight ahead, giving no other indication that he heard anything.

"Don't lie to me Scott, or to yourself..."  
Cooney watched the busy hospital staff as they passed quickly by the two.  
"You've been put through one hell of a lot of stress these past days."

"Oh, _really?_ Ye think so?..."  
Scott chortled back, heavy with dark sarcasm.  
"First off, I practically get that cocky lad killed on some backwater dust-ball of a planet. Secondly, I almost get _you _killed tryin' tae save the last scrap of me old crew from her own delusional self. And third, I had tae deliver the damned mercy-blow with me own hands! So thank ye _Special Agent Obvious_ fer pointin' oot me issues wit' _stress!_"  
He turned away, folding his arms over his heaving chest.

"I am _not_ trying to insult you, I'm trying to help you. I just don't want to see you make these same mistakes over and over again..."  
Rick shook his head, and felt over one of the more prominent scars on his face.  
"To be perfectly blunt Scott, it's this gung-ho sleep-when-I'm-dead mentality of yours that got Star Terrier killed in the first place, that drove Chakori to do what she did~"

"Leave her out of this, _please_..."  
Scott, turned gradually to face the raccoon. He was tense and grave as a cold tombstone.  
"Chakori never trusted a soul, not really – she barely even trusted _me_. That poor lass was on the run when she turned up in me flat, had it in her head that we was all the butt of some deep-down conspiracy of yer's or somethin' of the sort. I thought if anyone could've talked her down, it'd be you."

"There are some situations even _I_ can't talk my way out of. That was one of them..."  
Rick turned, and saw a defeated Scott Aberdeen. The fires behind his dark eyes were all burnt out, leaving only the ashes and smoldering charcoal of once blazing vigor in its place.

"I did what I had tae do, and ye'd do the same..."  
The terrier stood up from the chair, propped up on his stubborn confidence like a crutch.  
"Now this Star Fox team ye wanted is all I got left to show for me efforts. I'll set things right with this new crew, make amends for me blunders before. What have I got left tae lose after all? I got nowhere left tae go but up..."  
Scott began walking slowly down the hospital's hallway again.  
"Don't waste yer worry on me Rich, ye know I'm tougher than that."  
He was either as a man at the end of his tortured road or at the beginning of a brand new one, dead-ends and crossroads are often difficult to tell apart for one who enjoys off-roading.

"It's not just you I'm worried about."  
He didn't know whether Scott heard or not, but it didn't matter either way.

Further down the hall amidst the quiet hustle of the hospital staff, a copper furred vixen appeared out of place. She was dressed in unremarkable street clothes that stood out from the busy professionals, and carried a heavily laden backpack over her shoulders. Concealing her jittery nervousness, she continued her brisk pace through the hospital's corridor...

-

* * *

_Once, twice, or at the very most, three times, fate will reach out and tap a man on the shoulder..._

* * *

-

Something smelled good, _real_ good. The first layer of scent was strong and meaty. Another was smooth and sweet, then the last layer under it all was subtle, but warm and toasty. It could only mean one thing: someone made breakfast, and a big one too.

James McCloud eased himself out of bed, almost hypnotized by pungent, appetizing aroma.  
_Did the downstairs neighbors cook this? I bet they did. Maybe I can get some of it, they seemed like nice people..._

His bedroom was cluttered with an assortment of laundry, school things, and all other kinds of miscellany you'd find in a kid's room. The fox navigated to the dresser and put something on before heading out.  
_It smells way to strong for a regular breakfast. Maybe the neighbors cooked for a whole bunch of people, and have a lot._

James opened his bedroom door, and heard Rick down the hall.  
"I don't know sis..."  
The clink of silverware on dish, and the instant boosting of the smell meant the breakfast was right here.

_No way!  
_The fox brightened up and raced for the kitchen...

"Everyone has different tastes bro. I personally think this is pretty good, but then you've never really been into the spicy foods anyway..."  
Richard and Rachelle Cooney sat opposite each other at the apartment's small kitchen table, each with a generously laden plate of breakfast in front of them.

Rick noticed James closing in, "Morning pal. I see Rache didn't have to drag you out of bed today..."  
He shot a whimsy glance across to his sister.  
"...did you?"

Rachelle shrugged off, and took a drought of black coffee.  
"Looks like you're in for a real treat this morning Jamie."

James stopped at the side of the table, still fixated on the cornucopia before him.  
"Did you make all this?"

Rachelle was working a tender waffle topped with dark fruit jam, and Rick had some kind of omelet flanked by a mass of other side dishes.  
"Are you kidding Jim?..." He let out a small laugh. "Since when does _anything_ we cook ourselves come out smelling or tasting as good as this?"

"You got a point there." James answered, "So where _did_ this come from?"

"It's take-out, from that new place down the street..."  
Rachelle pointed out a whole collection of white paper bags on the counter top, most of them still quite full.  
"Rick just _had_ to go in on the overcrowded grand-opening day and order everything on the menu."

The raccoon selected a moist buttermilk biscuit from his many side dishes...  
"When it comes to our local eating establishments, I like to know what options we have available. And its not like I ordered _everything_ sis, just everything that caught my eye."  
He pried the biscuit in two and placed a thin pad of butter on each half.

Rachelle rolled her eyes, simultaneously peeved and accepting as only a sister can.  
"Feel free to help yourself Jamie, he brought back enough to feed the whole building for a week."

James was about to take one of the bags off the nearby counter top when Rick called out to the young fox.  
"Say Jim, maybe you can help me out here..."  
He waited for James to turn around and show his 'puzzled' face.  
"I can't decide if this 'Fortuna curry omelet' is all it's cracked up to be or not, I could sure use a second opinion right about now."

The fox picked a fork out of the silverware drawer under the counter and crossed back to the table where Rick sat.  
"What's it taste like?"

"Why don't you tell me?"  
The raccoon slid his plate toward James, and the fox took a piece of the aromatic omelet for himself..

-

* * *

_If he has the imagination, he will turn around and fate will point out to him what fork in the road he should take... _

* * *

-

"He's coming around now Dr. Mallard, everything looks good so far..."

Slowly, the memory faded into reality, lifting away from Jame's mind like fog at midday. He gradually became aware of an obnoxiously bright light in his face, and the throbbing, pounding, hammering in his head.  
"Ah, _hell..._" he moaned.

There were two other people in the small room, doctors or some other medical personnel by the looks of them. The first one stood to one side mostly out of sight, checking and double-checking some equipment, and the other was a mid-aged duck with velvety green plumage. He held a digital 'clipboard' of sorts, which he looked up from as he spoke to James.  
"Easy there Mr. McCloud, your body isn't used to being jolted out of a coma like this. Just relax and try not to move too fast."

"Where am I? And who are you people?"  
Jame's questions almost asked themselves while he carefully rooted himself into reality.

"I'm Dr. Drake Mallard and this is my assistant, Wes..."  
The avian doctor motioned toward the quiet unseen assistant.  
"You're in the Devers teaching hospital for Corneria City University's medical department, one of the finest in the entire system I'm proud to say. How are you feeling right now? Any pain?"

Wearily, the fox massaged the temples of his head as he uttered his reply.  
"My head's banging like a bad hangover, but the rest of me feels okay. What am I doing back here? I was..."  
James sat up quickly and reeled, overcome by another bout of his aching head.

"Way out on Papetoon, yes." Dr. Mallard supplied. "My colleague Clark sent you back here after some unexpected post-operative complications arose..."  
He finished entering the data on the 'clipboard' and looked back up to James on the bed.  
"Do you recall what happened to you? Is there any amnesia?"

James eased himself upright, careful not to go too fast this time...  
"I can remember up to when I first blacked out on the salt flats, everything after that is kinda blurred..."  
Like a break in the clouds, the headache cleared away for a brief moment.  
"What do mean 'post-operative complications'? I don't remember any operation, just how bad did I get hurt out there?"

Dr. Mallard stopped his note-taking, lowered the 'clipboard', and came closer to Jame's bedside.  
"Mr. McCloud, almost half your ribcage was crushed into splinters by blunt force trauma, the military surgeons on Papetoon had to start reconstructive surgery almost the instant they got you. Thankfully the operation went well and your ribs were put back together just fine, but massive uncontrolled inflammation sprung up during recovery, further compounded by a case of acute Hyperalgesia – temporary increased sensitivity to pain. This pain prompted increased immune activity in your body, leading to more inflammation, and more pain. Your whole nervous system became a spiraling feedback loop of raw pain signals. Dr. Clark was forced to induce a coma, shutting down your brain before it could kill you."

James leaned a little closer and spoke quietly to the doctor.  
"Just between you and me, being in stuck a coma doesn't sound too bad right now. Come on doc, there's gotta be _something_ you can do about these damned headaches..."

"The neuralgia should clear up on its own with time, but I could write you a prescription for some specialized painkillers if you'd like."

"That'd be great doc, do it."  
James relaxed back onto the bed, careful not to induce another head-hammering.

"No problem then, I'll have the meds sent up as soon as I can."  
The duck punched a few final entries into his 'clipboard' before giving James a few last words.  
"Take it easy Mr. McCloud, and don't hesitate to call on the hospital staff if you need anything else."

The doctor and his quiet assistant left the room and James alone in it. It was a decent enough space all in all, not that the weary fox cared much for his surroundings at the moment. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and allowed his mind to take its own course. His first thoughts were about the team; were they okay? They should be, there wasn't much reason they shouldn't. What was he going to do about Fang?What about the job? How did the client react? Did his actions have an impact? For good or for bad? Does it really matter?

"You have _got_ to love this fancy modern medicine, right Jamie?..."

Someone gave the fox a hearty slap on his shoulder. Startled, James sat bolt upright in an instant, bombarding his head with another dizzying wave of pain...

"A few years back it would've taken weeks of intense rehab therapy to coax you out of a coma like that. Now they just pump you full of neurostimulators and _snap,_ you're back among the living."  
That was Rachelle. Without making any noise, she'd somehow managed to get through the room's door and right up to Jame's bedside completely unnoticed.

James squinted hard, still recovering from the latest pang to his head.  
"More or less."

"Hey Jim..."

When he opened his eyes again he saw Rick standing quietly by the door. His face still teemed with the fresh-treated wounds from before.  
"My gosh Rick you're hideous, what happened to you?"

The raccoon just shrugged.  
"Long story short: the Agency gave me a promotion."

"Before or after you got in a fight with a meat cleaver?" James replied with a smirk.

"Doctors don't talk openly about their patients, I don't talk openly about my ops..."  
The raccoon let a weak smile draw on the edges of his lips.  
"It's good to have you back, Jim."

"You doing alright Jaime?"  
Rachelle ruffled her hand over the fox's head, and sat down on one of the visitor's chairs near the bedside.  
"The team's been worried sick about you, Hare especially."

"I'll live..."  
He gently brushed Rachelle's hand aside.  
"But what happened with the job? What's the client's story now?"

"Whats there to say? The Papetoon Planetary Republic is finally getting the offworld attention and assistance they wanted, thanks in no small part to your little spectacle."

"And what exactly did they need help for in the first place?"

"You sure you remember everything Jim?"  
Rick crossed the room to Jame's bedside, with only a trace of confusion.  
"The planet was plagued by internal security problems they couldn't handle on their own, you saw it yourself."

"And I guess state-of-the-art Katinan Battlemechs just burst out of thin air..."  
James pinned the older raccoon with a steely eyed gaze that refused to be patronized to.  
"Don't beat around the bush with me Rick. What the hell was going on there?"

Richard Cooney stopped, taken aback. He stared blankly over the fox's head for several seconds, unsure just how to answer...  
"To be honest I'm not too familiar with Papetoon's details, but I've seen this happen before..."  
He sat down in one of the room's visitors' chairs next to his sister.  
"It's called a proxy war, one of the oldest dirty tricks in interplanetary politics – usually used by larger interests to quietly knock smaller governments out of balance. Someone from the outside was probably helping the Murrinh-Patha, providing them with weapons, equipment, and even training. These revolutionary insurgents think of themselves as righteous 'freedom fighters', but all they're doing is weakening the established state to let another power gain influence. This wasn't a genuine cry for revolution, someone was trying to take hold over an entire world by tricking its own inhabitants to fight for a hollow cause."

"Everyone wants to be a hero Jamie, civilians especially..."  
Rachelle took the fox's hand in her own.  
"People want to believe they'll somehow benefit a greater good, but others can and do twist these good intentions for their own purposes. All you'd have to do is find an unhappy group, put weapons in their hands, give them an excuse to shoot, and they'll pull the trigger every single time."

"Somehow, I don't think _that_ many people could just let themselves get used the way you say..."  
James sat up in the hospital bed again, battling the returning headaches as he moved.  
"How can you be sure these fighters were all angry civilians? At least _some_ of them had modern military equipment and the training to use it right."

"I told you, I don't know much about Papetoon..." At a loss, the raccoon let his head rest in his hand. "Maybe there was some direct covert military assistance from another world or something, I just don't know. It's something someone'll have to look into for sure."  
Rick stood up, his bruised brown eyes seeming so distant in spite of how close he really was.  
"You did good out there Jim, I really mean it, and don't you dare believe _anyone_ who tells you differently~"

The room's door opened again and Vixy appeared on the other side, bearing the jeans and backpack so typical for a college student. She flinched, surprised to find the Cooneys at Jame's bedside.  
"Oh, sorry, I'll uh... I'll just come back later..."

The young vixen was about to close the door but Rachelle called out, stopping her.  
"No that's alright, we were just leaving..."  
The Cooney sister ruffled Jame's head one last time before she and her brother quietly exited the hospital room, leaving the fox and vixen alone and together...

"Now that looks an awful lot like Vixy Reinard..."  
The fox furrowed his brow in playful mock-confusion.  
"But it can't be, I heard she was swamped with her schoolwork lately and didn't have time for James McCloud."

"Victoria told everything that happened, so I made some time for you..."  
Vixy put on a relieved smile while she crossed to Jame's bedside.  
"Did you know she wanted to run a story on you and your Star Fox team?"

"Wanted?..."

The vixen set her backpack on one of the chairs, and sat down on the one nearest James.  
"I knew you wouldn't want that kind of inflated media attention, so I talked her out of it."

"Smart move, I'd probably wind up making a real jackass out of myself on camera. Thanks a bunch..."  
He noticed Vixy shifting uncomfortably in the chair, fidgeting with her hands, and quickly averting her eyes when James looked to her.  
"Something bothering you Vix?"

"You had a near-death experience, I think that counts as something bothering me."

"I get hurt a lot, its nothing new. Heck, if I had five credits for every time I messed up a piece of me and had it patched back together again, I could retire early..."  
He sat up to an even level with Vixy  
"Is it something at work?"

The vixen shook her head.  
"The studio gave me the month off so I can focus on my final capstone project for film school."

"Well I know what your study-stress looks like, and this isn't it – you're not charged on nearly enough caffeine..."  
James laid an arm gingerly across her shoulders.  
"So what's _really_ on your mind?"

Vixy didn't recoil, but tensed up when the fox pulled her closer.  
"Nothing, nothing at all. I'm just concerned about your health, and happy that you're going to be okay."

"Victoria was right, you _are_ a terrible liar."

She rolled here eyes and broke away from Jame's arm.  
"You just came out of a coma, I don't want to lay my issues on you while you're still recovering."

"Oh come on Vix, it's not like I'm not made of eggshells..." He groaned while Vixy stood up.  
"Do you have any idea how _dull_ being the center of everyone's sympathy gets after the first fifty times? I honestly wouldn't mind thinking about someone else's problems for a change, like yours."

The young copper furred vixen stood with her back to James for several moments, her tail swishing back and forth with uncertainty. Only the hospital's muffled ambient bustle could be heard around them, little more than a simple backdrop.

A reluctant sigh finally escaped Vixine Reinard's muzzle.  
"Alright then, can't say I didn't warn you..."  
She turned around, slowly.  
"I'm pregnant James, about six weeks in..."

The space between them froze in still stupor. Their gazes met, but passed through each other's eyes into the distance beyond them both. There would have been silence again were it not for Vixy's continued speaking.  
"I only just found out a couple days ago and I'm still not sure what to make of it. I've been so focused on my capstone project lately, maybe I forgot about the pills or something~"

James broke out of his speechless stupor, cutting the vixen off with a puzzled eyebrow raised  
"And you seriously weren't going to tell me about this?"

"I didn't want to stress you out, at least not until I've thought it over."  
She was pacing now, and speaking faster.

"You could think it over with me..."  
The fox took Vixy's hand in his when she made a close pass by the bedside.  
"Please Vix, I _want_ to be stressed out about something, _anything_ that doesn't have to do with me or Lylat's screwed up politics."

"But this _is_ about you."  
She took a seat next to James again – noticeably calmer now, but no less anxious.

"All the more reason we should figure this out together. You shouldn't do _all_ the worrying with everything you have on your plate already..."  
The fox released Vixy's hand, and dove headlong into the issue at hand.  
"Okay, so you're pregnant. What options are there on the table?"

"Realistically, I only see three: abortion, adoption, or we go through with it."

"Adoption is out of the question. I spent half my childhood in an orphanage and I'm not going to force that on another..."

"Then that leaves us only having the kid or not having the kid..."

Their dilemma gradually dawned on James McCloud and Vixy Reinard. They each began to realize that there was no middle ground when it comes to childbearing, and no way to compromise. They could either take the plunge or back off, not leave it hanging.

"Why don't we go through with it?" James asked, almost hypothetically.

"I can probably think of a few reasons why not."  
She answered,

"Sure you're gonna graduate from Three C in a few weeks, but the baby won't be done for at least another six months. There's plenty of time."

Vixy's posture slumped, the weight of responsibility weighing her down.  
"It's not just that James, I have a whole career ahead of me. I'll be ready to move up in the studio as soon as I finish school – I could be an associate producer in less than a year, maybe move into some positions of real significance."

"There are a lot of working mothers out there, they must've figured something out..."  
James laid a gentle hand on her nearest shoulder, easing her burden.  
"And _I'm_ here."

"You're not exactly unemployed."

The fox cocked his head to the side and shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.  
"True, but my work mostly comes in short intense bursts during the contracts. The rest of the time I'm just maintaining the equipment and looking for the next job. I've got a whole lot of empty time on my hands and not a whole lot to do with it. This isn't nanophysics Vix."

Vixy wasn't paying much attention. Her forehead rested in one hand as if in thought, but her lips were drawn up in an ironic smile as a laugh escaped her.  
"Listen to us James..."

"What?"

"We're talking about pregnancy like it's some kind of ordinary economic conundrum. Don't forget that there's a _person_ at stake here..."  
She gestured to indicate her abdominal area, which protruded a tiny fraction more than it had before. The change would've been completely unnoticed if James wasn't so intimately familiar with the contours of her body, or if Vixy wasn't wearing a form-fitting T-shirt.  
"Forget the overblown social issues, this is serious concrete stuff we're working with. It's not just about whether or not we have the practical means to raise a kid; we have to decide whether or not we can bring a brand new living, breathing, thinking being into this world. If we followed through with this, someone would be looking up to us for protection, for guidance, for support..."  
She locked an earnest pair of emerald eyes into the fox's steel blue.  
"Ask yourself this James: could we actually handle being _parents?_ Can you be 'Dad'? And I 'Mom'?"

James could only stare back in slack-jawed astonishment.  
"Okay, you're _good._"

"It's just the truth, get over it." She uttered in a dry matter-of-fact tone as she looked away.

He noticed Vixy shift uncomfortably again, and staring blankly into a nearby wall.  
"What's wrong Vix?"

"James..."  
The vixen turned back, revealing a face scrawled all over with doubt.  
"I really don't think I'm ready to be 'Mom'."

"Really? Why not?"

"It wouldn't be fair to our kid if I couldn't be close, you know, with everything I'd have to do with my career. I don't want to be the mom who's never there, to have a child who doesn't even know me. What kind of mother is that?"

"You're being way to hard on yourself..."  
James laid his arm across her shoulders  
"Tell me something, who else in Lylat can balance an ambitious career with stressful studies and an intimate relationship without totally losing it? I have never met _anyone_ who I think could be a better mom than you."

"How would you know? You've never had a true 'mother'."  
Vixy leaned into the fox's steady body, finding some comfort in the warmth and contact.

"I've always wanted one though, and I know I would've loved her if she was even _half_ the person you are. It's a little late for me to have a new mom now, but I'd bet our little kit in there wouldn't mind having a mom like you either..."  
He bent his head down and pressed an ear against the vixen's stomach.  
"Isn't that right? Don't you want your mommy to be an awesome lady like Vixy?..."  
Like a response to his question, he heard a quiet gurgling noise somewhere inside her body.  
"I think the baby is agreeing with me."

"Or maybe our kit wants a daddy like you flyboy..."  
Vixy caressed the side of Jame's head, and raised him back to her level.  
"I know I would."

Each in the other's arms, they closed the distance and the joined the ends of their muzzles in an affectionate kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, but conveyed a far deeper commitment than the most passionate, most sensual display could ever evoke. Just as easily as they had come together, the vulpine couple's faces drifted apart from one another.

"_Dad..._"  
James tried it out as if it was a strange new word.  
"That could take some getting used to."

Vixy rested her head against the fox's neck and shoulder, looking ahead.  
"We're actually going to do this, aren't we?"

James dropped his arm to the vixen's waist, and gazed in the same forward direction.  
"I don't see any reason to back off now, do you?"

-

* * *

_Once, twice, or at the very most, three times, fate will reach out and tap a man on the shoulder..._

_If he has the imagination, he will turn around and fate will point out to him what fork in the road he should take..._

_If he has the guts, he will take it._

-General George S. Patton-


	23. Impossible

**"**_**Impossible"**_

It was a long and bitter conflict, started so very long ago by a simple dispute over which planet would hold jurisdiction over the system orbital route now known simply as 'Sector-X', the graveyard. Corneria backed the interests of Fortuna, and among other services, helped to mobilize and modernize the world's near legendary Ghurtak as a light infantry fighting force for operations in the harsh environments found on both Titania and Fortuna.

Though the Cornerian Army's Ghurtak brigade was comprised entirely of Fortuna natives, their orders and allegiance still went through Cornerian military command; something a double edged sword for Fortuna's citizens. On the one hand, you were given the means and opportunity to proudly defend your home world in a rapidly changing solar system. On the other, your services were bound to the the whims of a foreign power that scarcely knew about you.

For Hassan Jhetar and thousands of other anxious, restless Fortunan citizens, it seemed a small price to pay for the safety of their world.

-

* * *

_Once more I hear the laughter with which you greeted every hardship. Once more I see you in your bivouacs or about your fires, on forced march or in the trenches, now shivering with wet and cold, now scorched by a pitiless and burning sun. Uncomplaining you endure hunger and thirst and wounds; and at the last your unwavering lines disappear into the smoke and wrath of battle. _

_Bravest of the brave, most generous of the generous, never had country more faithful friends than you. _

-Professor Sir Ralph Turner MC-

* * *

-

The suffocating, sweltering, disease ridden, insect infested jungles of this world were luxurious by comparison.

Of all the terrain on all the planets in Lylat, mountains are the greatest deceivers of them all. Nothing else appears so grand, so majestic, so appealing from far off. Yet a mountain is at the same time more deadly than any weapon devised by sentient beings.

The air hits your first.  
Deprived of oxygen in such a thin atmosphere at such high altitudes, your lungs must pump at all times as if you're running a race, even if you only travel at a slow walking pace. You were always exhausted on a mountain, this wasn't negotiable, and thirty extra kilograms of survival and mountaineering equipment didn't make it much easier.

The cold hits you next.  
It doesn't feel like a threat at first, the chilled air even seems refreshing, like ice cubes in a cool drink. Then your body slowly begins to fail as the warmth of life is drained away, wrung out out by the chilling grip surrounding you. Your limbs seize-up like a machine without oil, you can't speak without gibbering incoherently on your shivering tongue. Eventually, even your mind begins to crack under the crushing coils of the unforgiving cold.

Then your desolate surroundings strike.  
Though water is easy enough to find, a mountain will offer you nothing else on which to live. There is no vegetation to make shelter or gather food from, no other forms of life to hunt, and the treacherous saw-toothed landscape cuts off all practical assistance and contact from the outside. And at any given moment, a blizzard could swoop in and throw off your bearings, or a crevasse could open in the glaciers beneath your feet and swallow you whole, or an avalanche could crash down from the slopes and wipe you clean off the map.

A mountain gives you nothing, it can only take away from you.  
And it was here –in this frozen hell of snow, ice, and razor sharp stone– that we were to confront the enemy.

The target was a simple listening post hidden on the planet Fortuna, little more than an ear for the enemy that compromised operations by tapping into communication transmissions. All that was needed was to pinpoint the exact location of this post and transmit the survey data up to the orbiting fleet, so they would know precisely where to strike. Far easier said than done. This listening post was tucked into one of the most inhospitable places in Lylat where one could technically still be alive, where even the simplest tasks became nearly impossible.

The unit left base-camp a week ago and has been traveling on foot ever since. No vehicle has the endurance, or the range, or the inconspicuous agility needed to overcome the slopes and rocky steppes of the mountains undetected – a dangerous trek on foot was the only way. After the grueling journey across countless mountain valleys, the unit finally found their target and had made camp on a high ridge overlooking yet another deep and craggy mountain valley.

There were only three specially selected Ghurtak soldiers in this unit, any more would've risked detection and failure of the mission. Apart from their cumbersome packs –now laid in the center of camp– the three soldiers traveled light, forgoing armor and bulky weapon systems in favor of the absolute bare essentials. They each wore an insulated cold weather combat uniform, and carried only a select few sturdy lightweight weapons. All three however still bore identical heavy forward-deflected kukri knives on their belts.

The first was Ranger-Havildar Hassan Jhetar, the unit commander. The tiger's formidable frame was far leaner than normal, trimmed down by strict rationing and the long march across miles of supposedly impassible obstacles. Conquering an enemy soldier was easy, but conquering these mountains could take just as much or more effort than simple open combat. For this mission at least, the enemy was the least of Hassan's concerns – far more pressing were nutrition, hydration, health, and safety in a land that punishes poor planning with swift and certain death.

Next was Engineer-Naik Vineet Macaq, a spindly black-skinned primate with a talent essential to the success of this seemingly simple mission. Equipped with a specialized headset and a portable tripod-mounted transceiver array, Vineet manipulated the comm frequencies with the same meticulous care as a musician tuning his instrument. If ordered to, Naik Macaq could probably find a way to establish a comm line through a block of solid of lead and into orbit.

If looks could kill, Sniper-Naik Ishat Sangra would've been the next best thing. He was a smaller vulpine breed with an fully khaki-colored fur tone. But a pair of black patches around his eyes and extending along length of his muzzle gave the exotic fox's face a frighteningly sanguine demeanor. At the edge of camp, Ishat lay prone against a bank of snow while he keenly observed the mountain valley through the lens of a high-powered spotter's scope. His rifle and the rest of his carefully prepared sniper kit rested ready by his side, just in case he needed it.

Vineet flinched up from his instruments and quickly stopped his adjustments.  
"I've got a signal!"

The three Fortunan soldiers conversed with each other in their native language: an airy dialect that flowed loosely off the tongue.

"About time too. I'm sure I could've cleared the place out by now..." Ishat said coyly, "That is of course if Hassan would've _let_ me."  
He ejected a small data chip from a port in his spotting scope and held up the data chip toward the tiger.  
"You'll be wanting this, my good Havi."

"The mountains do not forgive recklessness, Sangra. If our position were exposed, then we'd all be dead for sure..."  
Jhetar picked the data chip out of the fox's hand.  
"If not by enemy fire, then by starvation after a hasty retreat. Just keep your eyes open for any unusual activity."

"Certainly my good Havi, its not like there's anything unusual about freezing our tails off at over five thousand meters after all."  
Ishat resumed his watch, his itchy trigger-finger forced to make do with the spotting scope's range finders and precise ballistics calculations instead.

Hassan crossed the snow covered ground to Vineet's transceiver setup, and handed the survey data to the engineer.  
"Macaq, patch us into our channel with the Cornerian fleet and put the survey data through."

"Can do."  
The primate took the chip and inserted it into the the transceiver systems, establishing a comm line at the same time.

Once the link was made, Vineet handed the headset over to Hassan, who spoke on the comm in an unnaturally accented Cornerian.  
"This is Havildar Jhetar reporting in as ordered. The target has been located, we're uploading the coordinates."

"_Acknowledged Jhetar, we're receiving your designated coordinates now..."  
_The answering voice was distinctly Cornerian, and somewhat preoccupied. _  
"Be advised, the fleet is currently engaged in combat and cannot spare any vessels for the intended surgical strike. We'll have to go with the backup plan instead."_

"Understood."  
The tiger removed the transceiver's headset and replaced it in the hands of its engineer before approaching the sniper once again.  
"Snagra..."

"Ke cha, Hassan?" Ishat replied casually in Fortunan, still keeping watch over the valley.

"What kind of anti-air defenses does the target have in place?"

The fox took a long look through the spotting scope again just to be sure of his answer.  
"A few man-portable systems at the most. Nothing that'd be a threat to any space cruiser."

"There won't be any space cruiser, not today, and even man-portable systems are deadly to fightercraft in this confined space."

"So we're doing the backup plan then?" Vineet asked curiously.

Hassan nodded. "Looks like we'll have a bit of excitement after all."

"Ayo!"  
Ishat scooped up his dormant rifle and immediately calibrated the weapon's sniping scope for the current conditions.  
"And here I thought this would just be another one of you ranger's extreme camping trips."

The tiger laid prone near Ishat and took a position with the spotting scope, taking over the spotter role in the makeshift sniper team. Through the spotting scope, Jhetar saw the listening array hidden on the far side of the valley in a camouflaged observatory-like dome. A concrete bunker sat nestled in a ridge just below it with a small watch party posted outside. A pair of mortar stations stood dormant nearby – all seemed weary and tired of the biting cold they were forced to endure.  
"Don't fire any more shots than you need to, Sangra. The last thing we need out here is to catch a mortar round with our teeth."

The vulpine sniper rested his rifle on the top of the snowbank and brought his keen eye to the scope, taking aim with a statue-steady hand.  
"Relax Hassan, spreading chaos and confusion with few shots is what I do best."

A distant growl of engine thrusters echoed through the cold mountain valley, growing steadily louder with each passing second. The watch party outside the bunker were pulled from their bored stupor, sent scrambling for weapons by the incoming and still unseen air support.

Ishat took advantage of the situation, locating the one watchman who dared to stand his ground, and used the roar of the engines as an audio camouflage. All the prior calculations of altitude, angle, wind deflection, and even temperature came down to this single instant. He fired a single shot.  
"And now the moment of truth..."  
A few tense, drawn-out seconds passed by as the fired round traversed the great distance between weapon and target. The watchman flinched, held steady for a moment, and finally flopped face-down in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood.  
"Fortuna favors my aim this day."  
A toothy grin pulled on the fox's muzzle while he prepared another round.

What separates a sniper from an ordinary marksman is not a matter of accuracy, it is a matter of mentality. A sniper is a walking ghost, an unseen phantom at the very edge of the battlefield, haunting the enemy with the constant threat of death. In this vein, the already frightened watchmen outside the bunker froze in a terrified at the sight of their slain comrade, only to scramble in disorder once again...

All except for one enemy watchman preparing a shoulder-mounted missile system in response to the closing fighters, caught by the tiger watching through the spotting scope.  
"ManPADS, holding steady at point zero two degrees right."

"Not for long, my good Havi..."  
Ishat lined up another shot, another intricate work of art, and fired it. The watchman turned around hearing the frantic pleading from his fellows nearby, but he didn't move from his position. He took the sniper round in the side of his head just as he asked his mates what the problem was, and dropped dead in front of them for all to see.

"Incoming fighters!"

Without moving his position, Ishat scoffed over his shoulder back to the nervous primate.  
"Cool your jets Vineet, that's just our air support."

Engineer Macaq's hands scrambled over his instruments, trying to make sense of senselessness.  
"But the designator signal isn't showing up as Cornerian military, they look like hostiles."

At that moment, two fighters rounded the bend at one end of the mountain valley. One of them large, bulky, heavily armed and armored, the other quick, agile, and tense as a coiled spring. Neither were standard Cornerian military models, or had designated markings that'd say so. As far as the three Ghurtak soldiers were concerned, they were a threat.

"What do you think Hassan?..."  
Almost jokingly, the vulpine sniper took aim toward the closing fightercraft.  
"I could probably pluck the poor pilots right out of their cockpits, no?"

The tiger was having none of it. He jumped of from the spotter's position, completely ignoring Ishat's jesting as he dashed for the transceiver array and jammed the headset back over his ears.  
"Jhetar to the fleet, we have a pair of unidentified fightercraft inbound. Are they the air support you sent?"

"_They are. Intel planted a mercenary unit in the Titanian force just in case they decided to launch another attack. Figured they might come in handy in a tight spot like this."_

_*BOOM* _

A deafening explosion pounded across the mountain valley from behind them. The listening post's antenna was destroyed, peeled off the mountainside by high-explosive round fired from the more cumbersome of the two fighters. The smaller, more agile one dove in for a strafing run against the bunker.

The voice on the comm was gruff dialect of Cornerian, one of the mercenary pilots.  
_"I didnae think anything could survive down here. You Ghurtak lot are one tough bunch, you know that?"_

Appreciation and a hint of pride tugged on the tiger's lips.  
"We like to make it a habit to prove the impossible wrong."

"_Heh, so I've been told..."_

A different voice came in on the channel, a strong female one in perfect Fortunan.  
_"__Kaphar hunnu bhanda_ _marnu ramro.__"_

Hassan immediately recognized the phrase as The Ghurtak motto, but was a little surprised to hear it from a mercenary.  
"You fly with our kin at your side?"

"_It's one of the reasons we took this job."  
_The female responded._  
"Fortuna is still my homeworld, and I'd gladly defend her."_

"_Speaking of, the fleet needs us back up in orbit..."  
_As quickly as they came, the two mercenary fighters ascended back into the sky._  
"Keep up the good fight lads, stay strong."_

"And you as well. Namaste."  
With that, Jhetar closed the comm channel and took the headset off, hearing the engine thrusters slowly dim away into the atmosphere above.

"What of the survivors?" Ishat asked over his shoulder, still with his sniper rifle trained on the far side of the valley.

"No need to waste the ammunition, the mountains will decide their fate soon enough."  
The tiger scooped his heavy pack from the snow and hefted the burden onto his shoulders.  
"Unless you'd like to stay out here any longer, let's pack up and head out."

-

* * *

-

The memorial was situated in a secluded park in a quieter section of Corneria city. It was a simple wall of reflective black granite engraved with thousands of names, sunk into the ground in such a way that it appeared something like a healing wound in the park's grassy knoll. Some few hundred feet away were a trio of bronze statues, each depicting a haggard serviceman of different species, all three of which gazed toward the black wall in the ground, toward the names of fallen.

The day was a little on the cool side but otherwise ordinary. And like such an ordinary day in the memorial park, several people of several species strolled quietly along the paths, reminisced in front of the black wall, or sat idly on one of the park benches scattered throughout. The last was the case of two who'd been talking between themselves for some time: one tiger clearly a soldier, and one raccoon clearly not.

"Central Intelligence?"  
Hassan Jhetar was dressed in the green service uniform of the Cornerian Army, decorated with his rank insignia, ranger and spec-ops patches, along with other relevant military ornamentation. It was hardly an unusual appearance for someone visiting a war memorial.

The raccoon nodded.  
"We'd train you as an agent."  
Cooney wore his typical inconspicuous gray coat,  
"You'd be working for me, mostly undercover."

The tiger's discerning gaze paralleled the the nearby bronze soldiers, looking across the lawn toward the glassy black wall of names, of past memories.  
"My superiors in the Ghurtak Brigade didn't take my decision to transfer to Dagger very well. They saw me almost as a traitor, disloyal to those who brought me out of the stale life I would've otherwise lived on Fortuna. But I can made so much more of a difference now as an operative of Dagger than I could've in the Ghurtak Brigade."

"I can't speak for Dagger, but I can tell you the Ghurtak couldn't be prouder to have you representing them among the finest soldiers nobody's supposed to know about. They really appreciate knowing one of their fellow Fortuans is out there tackling the toughest missions Lylat can throw at them. As an agent of LCI, you'd be able to make that much more of a difference in the system once again."

"I can only imagine what my comrades in Dagger would think if one of their own became like you."  
Hassan let out a quiet chortle, then became serious again.  
"Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice when you first approached me, to risk my life and career for your personal endeavors."

"You really weren't given a choice. I manipulated you, I forced you into a position you should never have to be in simply because I knew you would cooperate and get the job done. You were used by me the same way you'd use that nifty kukri knife, plain and simple."

The tiger gave Cooney an assessing, evaluating stare as if by simply looking hard enough, the answers would come.  
"What are you trying to get from me this time?"

"I want you to listen, that's all."  
It's hard to tell when a manipulator like Rick is being earnest, so often it's when they seem the most innocent that they have an agenda.  
"I won't go into details, but it seems I've needlessly jeopardized you with some of the choices I've made. Sometimes we see the puzzle pieces on the table and still wind up putting the wrong picture together, even though it's the one picture that makes the most sense at the time. "

Hassan listened, and kept drilling into the raccoon with his eyes which only intensified in their sharpness.  
"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to think about it Jhetar. It's not just lives that are at stake here, but the sensitive stability of entire worlds hangs in the balance too, which all adds up to more lives than you should bother to count. As much influence as an Intelligence agency has, it's still in the hands of people no more or less ordinary than the next – people like me. It's often when people like me screw up that people like you are called on to clean up the mess."

"And yet people like you still trust people like me to handle your most dangerous tasks, such as that bold rescue on Titania. Dagger is far more than a mere cleanup crew and you know it."  
The tiger stood up, bolstered with a soldier's pride and dignity  
"I respect your consideration Cooney, but my place is in the field, on a mission, with a clear goal ahead of me. So as tempting as your invitation is, I must decline."

"I figured you'd say no."  
Rick didn't sound the least bit disappointed, maybe even relieved.

"Then why in Lylat did you bother asking at all?"  
Hassan spoke something something between a sigh and a growl.  
"Are you even going to tell me?"

"For one thing, it's a fascinating conversation no matter which way it goes."  
The raccoon stood up, only coming about as high as Hassan's shoulder.  
"You have a long and promising career ahead of you in Dagger, one I won't stop you from pursuing. Though I'd still like to keep in touch with you as a contact, someone I can call on once in a while if it isn't too much trouble."

The tiger looked down to Rick, ears and whiskers bent forward in focused interest.  
"You are one strange, slippery little man."  
His tone was neither amused nor annoyed – 'fascinated' would probably be the best word to describe Hassan at that particular moment.

The raccoon just shrugged.  
"I'd probably be dead by now if I wasn't."

"Anyway, a contact you say?"  
He looked out over the grassy knoll again, to the names of thousands who've died in vain, in a war that shouldn't have been fought, in a war that could have been prevented...  
"Yes, I think I could do that."

"Glad to hear it Jhetar."  
Rick gave the tiger a casual slap on the shoulder as he passed by.  
"Even if it doesn't seem like it on your end, you'll always have at least one friend in Lylat Central Intelligence. I'll be sure to get a hold of you if I need something."

Hassan turned to face the raccoon, who was already a few feet along the memorial park's path when the feline soldier called out to him.  
"Wait, how are you going to contact me?"

Cooney didn't stop, but offered a reply over his shoulder.  
"I'll get a hold of you."

And the raccoon continued away along the populated park path. Hassan tried to watch him go, tried to follow Cooney with his discerning eyes, but failed as Rick disappeared, blending effortlessly into the passersby...

-

* * *

-

A low hovering skycar cruised down the quiet road between the houses. It was a high-performance two door model with an oversize engine housing, painted silver-gray with blue racing stripes – a muscle car by any measurement. The vehicle pulled easily into a driveway next to another dormant skycar and settled down outside a garage.

The silver-gray muscle car's door opened, and a brown furred fox stepped out sporting ordinary street clothes and an off-white flight jacket embroidered with the name 'McCloud' across the back. He armed the security on the skycar and headed along the concrete pathway toward the front door of a house...

The sign impaling the lawn out front read 'Sold' in a large bold typeface, along with other Realtor information. The modest building itself was of a newer design, built efficiently enough to be far more affordable than its sleek and impressive architecture would suggest. It was one of several similar structures dispersed throughout the subdivision, a relatively new residential zone in the suburbs of Corneria City. The area was conveniently situated near the transit systems and roadways for easy access to the city and the nearby spaceport, though the latter wouldn't normally be a selling point for most home buyers...

James McCloud opened the front door and stepped into the house, the interior of which was similarly fresh as the outside. Every floor, wall, ceiling, every element, every appliance, every minute detail breathed a simple and efficient elegance. It wasn't a flashy home, nor was it bland; true that it lacked any history to speak of, but it exuded a bright and confident potential for the coming future.

However, that potential would have to be realized later. Dozens of cardboard boxes laid scattered throughout the house, most of which still needed unpacking.

"Hey you're back!"  
With one of these boxes in her hands, Vixy strode past James and straight into the kitchen.

The fox watched her go by, surprised by her buoyant demeanor.  
"Yeah, I uh... thought I'd do some unpacking."

"Well grab a box and help yourself, there's plenty for the both of us."  
Besides her newly energized outlook, a few telltale physical changes were starting to appear. Vixy's breasts began to swell beneath her shirt, and her pants seemed a little lighter than normal around the stomach. Still, most of the current physical changes wouldn't have been obvious to anyone but James alone.

"Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be working so hard?..."  
The cautious fox followed her into their new but unequipped kitchen.  
"I'm sure the studio gives you all this maternity leave for some good reason or two."

Vixy set the box down on the floor as she responded.  
"And your point is?"  
Kneeling next to a granite counter top, she opened the box and started to transfer its contents –almost all cooking utensils– into the empty drawers.

"Ever since you graduated, you were always exhausted, under the weather, and incredibly moody..."  
James crouched down next to the busy vixen and laid a caring hand on her shoulder.  
"Why, it was only a few weeks ago that I held your head over the toilet while you blew chunks from your morning sickness."

"I get that you're looking out for me, and it's sweet of you to do that James. But I feel a lot better now, great in fact..."  
Vixy took his hand in hers and looked up from her work  
"You know all this is normal in a pregnancy, right?"

"So I'm to understand you were _supposed _to go through all that strain and stress? You were practically the living dead back there!"

"The first trimester is often the most challenging period for new mothers."  
She stood up and took the half-empty box to another part of the kitchen.  
"With all the hormones flying around, it's no mean feat that I managed to stay relatively sane and healthy for it – many don't."

James slowly rose to his feet, immediately recognizing the academic timbre carried by the vixen's voice.  
"You've been studying again..."

"So what if I have?"  
Vixy set the box on top of the counter and turned to reply.  
"You and I both agreed to see this through flyboy, and I have every intention to know exactly what it is we've gotten ourselves into, and you should too. You want the baby to be good and healthy when it's done, don't you?"

"Of course I do, but what the heck am I supposed to do for you now?..."  
The fox gestured broadly around the kitchen.  
"It looks like you're already on top of everything."

The vixen let a smile creep across her muzzle.  
"For now, you could give me a hand with all this unpacking."  
She motioned to the box on the counter, still laden with a wide variety of kitchenware.

And for a short moment at least, the vulpine couple unloaded the cardboard box of its culinary equipment in quiet harmony. Not a single spoken word passed between them in this time, until Vixy broke the silence in the midst of the midst of their established unpacking routine.

"So what's the deal about this important focus group you were in earlier today?"  
The vixen stopped her work, eyeing James expectantly for a response.  
"It doesn't sound like something you'd normally go for."

James wasn't paying much attention, and reached into the box for another cooking utensil.  
"Nah, you wouldn't be interested~"

He was cut off when Vixy reached out and stroked her supple hand down the side of Jame's face, caressing through the fox's rich auburn fur.  
"I asked, didn't I?"

James shrugged and released a small laugh – there wasn't any way he'd refuse such a heartfelt invitation.  
"Okay, can't say I didn't warn you..."  
He resumed the methodical unpacking as he began.  
"The group was brought together by this big-shot aerospace engineer from Space Dynamics, Beltino Toad. He's looking to design what he calls the 'next generation of combat fighter' and wanted to know what some of us in the business would like to see in a new set of wings. The corporate and military quartermasters didn't mind something with a high price tag so long as it's inexpensive to maintain and operate. Some of the other veteran pilots wanted something flexible that could switch roles at the same quick pace as combat circumstances change, so just one craft could take the place of many different types..."

"And what did _you_ say?"  
Vixy wasn't unpacking, but was instead listening to Jame's spiel far more intently than he probably expected.

"Me? I'd like to see a fighter that can be pushed as hard and as far as the pilot..."  
The fox continued on, still unpacking as he spoke. Talking about this subject as easy and effortless for him as breathing.  
"You gotta know Vix, there's a point where a pilot's instincts, reflexes and abilities far exceed what the hardware can handle – a point where the pilot is forced to compromise between what he knows he can do and the physical limits of whatever he's flying. Personally, I'd like to see a fighter that can fully utilize the potential of an expert, that becomes a seamless extension of an ace pilot's will when he's flying it. Because once you have that combination, you've got a force on your hands that could easily surpass the limits of what's impossible today."

"You make a real nice speech flyboy..."  
Vixy grasped Jame's hand before it could continue its automatic unpacking routine.  
"At least when it comes to piloting anyway."

"I guess Beltino thought so too..."  
James reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a business card with the Space Dynamics logo boldly printed on one side, and offered in to Vixy.

"What's this?"  
She took it, and found the reverse side of the card had a photo of an olive green toad along with neatly organized information about him and his position in the Space Dynamics Corporation.

"Engineer Toad is gonna be in charge of this next generation fighter project, and he wants to hire me part-time as a test pilot once they have some prototypes ready to go."

"That's great. So you'll be doing more in this world than just fighting someone else's battles."  
Vixy returned Beltino's business card to the fox.

"It's still dangerous to work as a test pilot, possibly more so than as a freelance mercenary..."  
James took the card back and replaced in his jacket pocket before he started unpacking the box again.  
"Heading into the heat of battle in something you're comfortable with is one thing, but there's no telling what could happen when you take a new and untested set of wings up for their maiden flight."

"Which is why they'd only hire the best and most competent pilots to take on a challenge like that..."  
The vixen came behind James and began to massage his shoulders, most of which were tense beneath her kneading fingers.  
"Don't you see it James? You're moving up. All the effort and dedication you've put into Star Fox is starting to pay off."

"It's just weired to look around only to find you've been shoved up the social ladder when you weren't paying attention..."  
Jame's eyes wandered lazily about the kitchen, the house, and this new life he was settling into.  
"But who knows, maybe this test piloting gig could really be on to something."

"Speaking of..."  
Vixy leaned in close over the fox's shoulder, and nearly whispered in his ear.  
"I think there's something in our new master bedroom that could use a kind of 'test flight'."

"Are you?..."  
Jame's eyebrows leapt up when he realized where the vixen was going.  
"Wait a second, that cannot _possibly_ be good for the baby."

Vixy let an amused laugh escape her while backed slowly out of the kitchen.  
"It's really not dangerous at all James, it can even be beneficial."

The fox followed her with a puzzled hand rubbing his forehead.  
"And how exactly is me screwing you the way you are right now going to have benefits for our kit?"

"Technically, oral is supposed to be the most effective..."  
Baffled, James stopped dead in his tracks with his mouth hung open and eyes the size of dinner plates. The vixen just rolled her eyes and launched into another academic-style explanation.  
"Maternal exposure to the father's semen during pregnancy helps strengthen the mother's immune tolerance to the paternal genes and by extension, the fetus. There's clinical research to back it and everything – I'm not making this up. This is _your_ DNA inside me flyboy, I don't my my immune system attacking our child just because your jizz is a stranger to my body."

Hardly believing what Vixy was telling him, James broke down in laughter and shook his head.  
"Okay, now I know you've been studying up _way_ too much on this whole pregnancy thing."

"What can I say? Old habits die hard."  
The vixen shrugged it off as she approached James, closing in until they were a scant few inches apart.  
"But physiology aside, you really do deserve a good time after what we've gone through to get here, and you've been such a good sport through it all..."  
Vixy's hands crept up the sides of Jame's head, holding him in her gentle coils as she planted a lustful kiss on the pleasantly surprised fox's muzzle.  
"The unpacking can wait flyboy, it's not going anywhere."

James draped one arm across the vixen's shoulders, returning her frisky antics in-kind.  
"You know Vix, I think I remember you saying something about a 'test flight'..."  
Then with his other arm, he scooped Vixy clean off the floor and carried her out of the kitchen, up a flight of stairs, and finally through a door into the master bedroom.

-

* * *

_You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams._

-Dr. Seuss-

* * *

-


	24. A Walking Talking Liability

_**A Walking Talking Liability**_

The quiet hum and rumble of machines rolled through the background, interrupted only by the steady plunking of footsteps against the metal floor panels. The footsteps belonged to a nervous wolf walking through the lonely corridor. The black hooded sweatshirt he wore contrasted in sharp opposition against his bleach-white fur. He passed door after yet another identical door along the corridor, searching for only one in particular.

Sargasso Station's living quarters were much like the rest of the secluded space station. Freshly installed wall panels standing right alongside ones that have suffered a long time before. So it was the same with everything else; constantly broken and constantly mended again, toughened the same way broken bones heal stronger than they were before. You were safe in Sargasso's arms, for they were the life-hardened and time-tamed arms of a weary grandfather. Maybe it didn't look like much on the surface, but Sargasso endures –he always endures– and there's a comfort to be found in his stubborn persistence.

The wolf stopped, outside one of the simple cabin doors so similar to so many others, and he hesitated. He checked the number again to be certain, glanced up and down the hallway to make sure he was alone. What if no one was there? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. There's still time to turn back and call it off~

_Screw it. I've put this off way too long already..._

He could've pressed the door's buzzer, but didn't. Instead, the wolf who called himself Kishu reached out his hand and knocked it against the door. The dull ringing resonating through the corridor, and another set of muffled footsteps plunked behind the door, getting louder.

Kishu glanced up, and spotted the small camera just above the doorway that'd reveal who he was to the cabin's occupant. And though there was an intercom, it stayed tensely silent. The wolf's breath came in quick and shallow despite his best attempts to control it, and his heart beat against his chest like an anxious drumroll. Maybe she wouldn't even answer the door. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with this~

The door slid open, and Carmen O'Donnell stood on the other side clear as day, waiting.  
"You..."  
Her silver-gray fur was unkempt and matted in some places, her clothes were clean but somewhat worn-out. The lupine woman was weary with life, but in otherwise good health, holding on by the same defiant vitality that fueled the rest of Sargasso station.

Kishu went blank. He knew he should've said something, done something, or at least felt something; but he didn't know what... The flustered white wolf just stood there, at a loss...

In a flash of rage, Carmen's hand formed a fist as it bolted instantly through the air, and slammed into Kishu's left eye socket.

"Gah! Fuck!..." the wolf yelped.  
The sudden blow caught him off his guard, sending him staggering back a few steps as he clutched his injured eye.  
"What the hell did you do that for?!"

"Shhh!" Carmen cut him off, "The baby's sleeping..."  
She wasn't looking at Kishu, but at the hand she ht him with as she clutched in with her other. She'd hit the miserable wolf with such force that she'd injured her hand in the process. It wasn't clear what Carmen O'Donnell was thinking, but she seemed similarly uncertain as Kishu. For a few painfully long seconds, the two of them stood in quite opposition to each other. Both hurt, and neither sure what they should do next...

"You're gonna want something for that eye."  
Carmen glanced up to her former lover, and experimentally flexed her aching fingers.  
"Maybe you'd better just come on inside."  
She turned and walked back into her apartment-like living quarters, Kishu following close behind.

The space wasn't especially large, just a simple living area with a kitchenette shoved into one corner and a door -probably to a bedroom suite- tucked in another. Carmen continued through into that door, leaving her unexpected guest alone in the spartan front room...

Mostly alone.

There was a modern, high end mesh-sided infant bed off to one side of the room. The modular rig came complete with a built-in changing table, locking wheels for easy mobility, and mobile of spacecraft models dangling over it. All of it should've cost more than Carmen could afford, but there it was anyway. Kishu approached the crib, both curious apprehensive of what he might find inside. What he found was a tiny silver-gray wolf pup, so peacefully asleep in spite of the seemingly unfavorable conditions surrounding him...

Carmen O'Donnell soon returned from the bedroom suite with a pair of cryotherapeutic 'cold-packs', one of which she offered to Kishu.  
"Here, put this on your eye."  
The pale wolf took the cold-pack and did as instructed. The liquid-filled pouch was already ice cold as he held it up against his bruised eye socket, numbing the bitter pain underneath it.

"Is this him – our son?"  
He looked down, referring to the infant Wolf.  
"He looks so much like you."

Carmen held her cold pack against her injured hand, her stance mirroring Kishu's.  
"But he's got your eyes, even if you can't see them right now..."  
She hooked the bleach-wolf with a sharp glare.  
"What did you come here for?"

"To see you."  
Kishu met her gaze with a blunt one-eyed stare, the other eye still recovering behind the cold pack he held there.

"Well you've seen me, so now what?"

"I dunno. If I wanted, I could try apologizing to you..."  
His healthy violet eye scanned the room, searching – and his unoccupied hand fidgeted in the pocket his black hoodie.  
"But I knew what I was doing when I vanished without a trace, and I'm not sorry I did it either. I've told you about those insane bloodthirsty maniacs I have to deal with out there, you were a threat to me and I was a threat to you~"

Carmen grabbed Kishu by his fidgeting arm.  
"Answer me one thing, and don't BS it..."  
It was neither an act of comfort nor hostility from her, merely firm determination.  
"Did you leave to save your own skin? Or Did you leave to protect me?"

The pale wolf glanced back and forth between her intent gaze and his ensnared hand – twitching and trembling in Carmen's grip.  
"Both, I guess..."

Carmen rolled her eyes and began to walk off, but Kishu followed close behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder.  
"No wait, you gotta hear me out Carmen. if this was anyone else, I would've been the heartless bastard and let her suffer whatever sick torture some freak trying to get at me could come up with. But just for you, because I couldn't handle it if any of that fucked-up shit happening to you, I was a spineless coward. So go ahead, hate my guts and everything I stand for, you deserve it. I just want you to know I did what I did so you could have a chance to live your life..."  
He stopped, and took a greater look around Carmen O'Donnell's living quarters.  
"But holy hell, I never saw any of _this_ coming outta you. You're one changed gal, you know that?"

She folded her arms over her chest, skeptical of Kishu.  
"What are you getting at?"

The Pale wolf shrugged casually, still pinning the cold pack to one side of his face.  
"I was hoping maybe you'd meet a decent guy and settle down, but no. Here you are, holding down a job on one of the sketchiest interplanetary stopover stations in the system, raising a pup – _my_ pup by yourself, and keeping it all together. You must've grown one hell of a backbone to make it here on Sargasso."

Carmen raised a stark white eyebrow, intrigued.  
"In a way I have you to thank for it."

"Me? What did _I_ do?"

Kishu got his answer not from Carmen, but from the crib nearby. It was in the form of a quiet whimpering whine from the infant pup that lay there. Not a cry of distress per-se, but a quiet utterance of longing.

Carmen drew a short breath, and glanced quickly to her son with the awareness of a mother. She took the cold pack away from her hand, flexed it, and found her fingers responding well to the treatment.  
"You did _that._" she said, jerking her head toward the crib.  
The lupine woman placed the used cryotherapuic pouch in Kishu's hand and went to attend her son.

"Oh, yeah..."  
Unsure what to do with the pack, the white wolf wound up next to Carmen again, next to the multi-use infant bed.  
"What did you keep him for anyway? I bet it would've been easier just to give him up for adoption or something."  
Absentmindedly, Kishu dropped his former lover's unneeded cold-pack on the empty changing table.

"As much as I do hate you for what you did, a tiny little part of me didn't want to let you go, and so a tiny little part of you is what I kept..."  
Carmen reached down into the crib and lifted Wolf out, where the child relaxed in his mother's arms.  
"Since I didn't have anything better to do, I made raising little Wolfie my single most important goal. He gave me a reason to carry on, and I never would've had that chance if it wasn't for you..."  
She carried the infant away toward her quarters' kitchenette, leaving Kishu speechless and puzzled.

The pale wolf snapped out of it, and followed Carmen  
"But he can't stay here, not on Sargasso..."  
He came alongside Carmen again as she opened and browsed through the refrigerator in her kitchenette.  
"Maybe he'll be okay for now while you can have him protected and watched over, but what happens when he gets older? What'll you do when he can run around on his own and get himself into trouble? You've seen the crowd that comes to this station, there's no way you'll be able to keep him safe here for much longer."

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there..."  
She removed a baby-bottle filled with an opaque whitish milk, but of what kind specifically wasn't clear. Whatever the case, Carmen brought it to the sink and held it under a flow of hot water to warm it up. The lupine child in her other arm watched his mother's routine with an eager anticipation.  
"It's not a permanent plan for sure, but Sargasso's treating us alright for now."  
She turned off the tap and brought the warmed-up bottle to Wolf, who clutched it in the grasp of his tiny hands and began to suckle ravenously on the bottle's teat.

Though only an infant, the same ferocity lived behind Wolf O'Donnell's deep violet irises as his biological father's. For the white wolf who called himself Kishu, he might as well have been gazing into a minuscule pair of mirrors.  
"Maybe I could... you know..."  
Standing close, he laid his free hand on Carmen's shoulder.  
"Give you a hand with him?"

The O'Donnell mother was still. One part of her was remembering why she invested her emotions in Kishu in the first place, but another part reminded her of what he still was. Both pulled oh her, threatening to tear her to pieces if she didn't choose a single direction.  
"I'm not sure you can help, even if I wanted you to."

_A mirror cracks, and shatters._  
"What?"  
Kishu held her tightly, forgoing the cold-pack for his bruised eye by using both hands.  
"I can _be_ here for you Carmen, I really mean it this time. You don't have to go through this alone anymore."

"How exactly could you help to me?"  
Carmen stubbornly held her ground, clinging her feeding son tighter against her chest.  
"You're flying under the scanners, scurrying from one shady job to the next while you dodge the authorities and the mob alike. It's only by some string of miracles that you're not dead already."

_A mirror shows us what we couldn't see ourselves, what we refuse to see._  
"But, but I can change..."  
Kishu's breath came is spastic gasps, and the possessive grip in his hands weakened, trembling.  
"I can go legit, just like~"

"You haven't changed a bit!" Carmen forced, shaking her head.  
She broke away from her former lover's decaying clutch, standing in opposition to him.  
"Take a good look around you Kishu. Here I am building a new life for myself from scratch, from the nothing you left me. But you? You're still the same drifting desperado I used to be infatuated with; it won't work."  
The troubled lupine woman turned away and headed for Wolf's crib, on the other side of her quarters.

"You gotta believe me Carmen, I don't want that life anymore..."  
Kishu pursued her, grasping for anything that he could pull himself up by.  
"You're the only thing I got left that's any good and I don't wanna loose you."

With her back to Kishu and her face hidden, Carmen set her son down in his crib to rest. The lupine infant content to be happily oblivious to the surrounding tension.  
"I'm sorry, but you can't help me."

"Don't do this."  
His extended his hand, reaching out to be saved, and to offer what little he had.  
"I need you~"

"No!"  
Kishu's touch burned, and she recoiled as if his hand were a hot iron. She still kept her face hidden from him, standing over her son as a loyal guardian.  
"You've already shown you don't need me, and that I don't need you either."

"Carmen please, I~"  
She whipped around to face Kishu, abruptly revealing a face ravaged by inner conflicts. There was anger, fear, anxiety, and despair all vying for dominance, but none coming out on top.  
"...I love you."

Their gazes locked – a connecting line which spanned between the lupine pair with enough tension pulling on it to play music by... or to snap.

Another fist formed in Carmen O'Donnell's hand and she pulled it back for another blow, but hesitated. She saw a flash of fear appear in Kishu's eyes as he flinched – an expression she'd witnessed so many times behind an identical but much smaller pair of deep-violet irises.

Carmen stayed her hand, and slowly lowered it until she became preoccupied with massaging her striking hand in the other.  
"If you really do love me, if you actually mean what you say, then keep your damned word for once. Stay away from me and my son so you're not a hazard..."  
She looked up from her squirming hands, stubbornly holding back the liquid gathered in her eyes.  
"Because that's what you are Kishu: a walking talking liability that I can't afford. There's no room in my life for you, not when you're like this."

"You don't mean that."

Carmen pushed back against him, steadily leading the white wolf backward toward the door.  
"I'm going to be okay, don't worry about me ."

"Don't give up on me Carmen..."  
Kishu wasn't resisting, or arguing, or outwardly protesting at all. He let himself be pushed away  
"I'll make things right, I swear... I'll come back for you and our pup... I'm gonna get you two outta this dive, and we'll have a life together..."

Almost accidentally, as if she'd sprung a small silent leak, a tear escaped her wavering eye and ran down her face. Through a grimace of pure pain, Carmen O'Donnell forced the words out of her mouth and into the light of day.  
"It's time for you to go."

She gave Kishu one last nudge beyond the boundary of her living quarter's doorway. And with the push of a button on the wall panel, the sliding door slammed shut between them.

-

* * *

_Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? _

_It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, __wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart.__ It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. _

_I hate love._

-Neil Gaiman-

* * *

-

* _Clong!_ *

A sudden jostle shook him awake. It was all black, a cold and stuffy darkness with no openings. He lay face down in the steel cocoon, gasping for breath and battling his aching body. There was nowhere to go, no way out. It was a dream, trapped a terrible nightmare of claustrophobic darkness.

* _Click_ * _Click_ *

Latches were undone, and the blackness opened up to an unbearable white light. A gray silhouette stepped into the light and began to speak.

"You never cease to amaze..."  
He knew that voice, and never wanted to hear it again.  
"For all your cunning antics, all you're capable of and willing to do, you still find ways to be absolutely bone-dead _stupid._"

The place was a cargo hold of sorts. Stacks of shipping crates and storage bins dominated the cold and lifeless chamber, and the harsh unnatural light felt out of place. The only sounds were the content grumbling of a space vessel's fusion reactor and engine thrusters cruising through hyperspace.

Dressed in unremarkable attire, Richard Cooney stood over a storage cylinder knocked to the floor and opened up.  
"Did you miss me, sunshine?"

Inside the open cylinder was Kishu, or at least what was left of him. Still in a ragged black hooded sweatshirt, the white wolf glared back at Cooney through a pair of sagging bloodshot eyes. He reached an unsteady hand into his sweatshirt pocket, drawing a cheap handgun. Rick snatched it out of Kishu's feeble grasp before he could point the weapon at the raccoon.

"What the hell do want?"  
His voice was dry and hoarse

"I bust you out of Mt. Khali, and _this..._" holding up Kishu's handgun "...is the thanks I get when I save your life again?Why is it that people like you always insist on being so ungrateful?"  
Rick ejected and pocketed the blaster's magazine cartridge, dropping the useless weapon back into the wolf's hands.

"I was _fine!_ I don't need your hel~"  
Kishu began to sit up, but broke down into a fit of dry coughs.

"Oh come _on,_ look at you! You're starving, you're dehydrated, you haven't had enough fresh air to breathe and you were about to suffocate in that coffin you locked yourself in. Don't you know most stowaways end up _dying_ during the trip?..."  
The raccoon pulled a bottle of water out of his coat pocket and offered it to the famished wolf.  
"Kishu, look at me~"  
Kishu glanced up, saw the water bottle, and snatched it out of Rick's hand before he proceeded to drain it.  
"Good gravy, what did you _do_ to yourself?"

Kishu swallowed another mouthful of water, pausing only to answer the raccoon's question.  
"It's your fault, _you_ did this."

Cooney cocked an eyebrow, skeptical.  
"I don't think I remember doing this one."

The starved lupine stowaway almost to inhaled a mouthful of water, and was overcome by another wracking fit of coughs.  
"...I was _through_ with Carmen, I was done with her and she was out of my goddamn life for _good_. Then you fucked it all up when you told me about my kid. That's when I started thinking about her, started wanting to see her again... and then I went did that."

"So you do love her..."  
Rick massaged his forehead, realizing just how far Kishu had gone.  
"Only love could hit anyone this hard."

"I didn't want this..."  
His head hung low, still sitting in the overturned cargo cylinder.  
"I can't stop thinking about her, I can't get it out of my head, I – I don't want this fucking _love_ anymore!"  
The wolf snapped, and hurled the empty water bottle across the cargo bay.

The raccoon sighed, and knelt down beside Kishu.  
"You're just going to have to learn to live with it, because it's not going to go away anytime soon."

"Then maybe I shouldn't live at all."

"Goddammit Kishu!"  
Rick struck the sulking wolf upside the head, stood up, and began pacing a circle around him.  
"You know, I was right about you. You really are _completely_ expendable, nothing more than another lump of garbage in the gutter. The universe could so easily go on without you like you weren't ever there to begin with. So maybe I should just leave you here to rot in your own filth, everyone else has – even _Carmen _threw you out with the rest of last week's trash."

"Carmen's got a kid to live for now, she's got a real purpose in her life..."  
Kishu looked up, daring the raccoon to answer his question.  
"What do _I_ got?"

Cooney stopped at the cargo cylinder's base, throwing a confident little smirk down to its occupant.  
"Potential, a whole bunch of it too."

The white wolf threw back his head and rolled his eyes.  
"You've gotta be kidding me."

"I have something important to tell you Kishu and I want to listen very carefully, do you understand?"  
Without giving him a chance to answer, Rick sat down on the overturned cargo cylinder – half facing Kishu and half turning his back.  
"There is an entirely different world lurking just beneath the surface of everything we know to be true. It's a shadowy world made up of networks, connections, and people from every walk of life who quietly pass along to someone else in their network, or sometimes not. It's not only intelligence agencies like LCI, but also a number of sects in the criminal underground, military black-ops, familiar governments and corporations who's true ambitions extend beyond the written laws, even a few daredevils, journalists, and police detectives; and they're all players in a vast and deadly game of secrets. It's a game of strategy and tactics like chess, it's also a high-stakes game of deception and guile like poker, and it's a game that is often played in teams where members have been known to betray their own. I'm just one player in all this, and I quietly play on the team of Lylat Central Intelligence."

Kishu's arms had folded across his chest, and he looked as if he'd only been half-listening.  
"And why should I care?"

The raccoon stood up and faced him before answering.  
"Because you've spent your entire life as an oblivious pawn, and I know you're capable of so much more than that. I can teach you how to play this game Kishu, and more importantly, I can teach you how to _win_ at it."

The wolf was leaning forward now, intrigued.  
"So _this_ is the potential you were talking about."

Rick nodded, and stepped his cybernetic leg onto the edge of the cylinder.  
"I've shown you the door, now it's all up to you. Are you going to turn around and dump your life down that same festering piss-pot you spilled from? Or are you going to step up, take control of yourself, and put that untapped potential of yours to work?..."  
The raccoon extended his hand toward Kishu, and saw that he was still indecisive.  
"Carmen isn't in your life anymore and that's probably for the best. She's a good strong girl, she'll pull through alright."

"Yeah I'll do it..."  
Without a second thought, the pale wolf took Cooney's hand and pulled himself up by it.  
"I got nowhere else to go and nothing better to do. So when do I start?"

Rick brushed Kishu's haggard black sweatshirt, and found it hiding a great many stains.  
"For starters let's just get you into a cabin and cleaned up, then we can discuss it all in greater detail over a nice hot meal. How's that sound?"  
He started for the cargo bay's exit.

"Hold on a second, I'm a stowaway on this ship..."  
Suspicious, Kishu started after the raccoon.  
"How do you know I'm not gonna get canned if I go out there?"

"Don't sweat it..."  
Rick slipped a folder out of his cloudy gray coat, and held it over his shoulder for the wolf to see.  
"Rache had these documents and ticket forged just for you, and she even hacked you onto the ship's passenger manifest."

Astonished, Kishu took the folder and thumbed through its contents – all of it looked perfectly legitimate.  
"How'd you figure this one out?"

"When I'm through with you, this stuff is going to be as natural as breathing..."  
The raccoon released a lighter chuckle and headed for the exit again with the pale starved wolf in-tow.  
"So I never got the chance to ask you before: just what kind of weird name is 'Kishu' anyway?"

"_Makita__Kishu._" he answered, "It's some old east Katinan name, and I have no idea who gave it to me."

"One thing you'll need for sure is a less conspicuous cover name..."  
Rick thought of something while they approached the door to the outside.  
"How about 'Mack'?"

The wolf just shrugged.  
"Works for me."

Richard Cooney and newly christened 'Mack' exited the cargo bay together, then shut off the lights on their way out.  
The two of them left behind only the cold darkness and the humdrum drone of engine thrusters, both of which were already there to begin with anyway.


	25. The Legacy

_**The Legacy**_

The main doors to the wedding chapel were already open, and a number of faces looked back over the pews toward the entrance. Some were startled, some were relieved, some were disdained, but they were all pointed in one direction. There was James McCloud standing just inside the chapel's entrance, so uncomfortable in the Black-Tie formal attire. The fox was soaked, drenched head to tail in rainwater – the same rain which could be heard pounding against the ceiling and windows. James' breath came in deep heaves, like he'd just ran a footrace getting there, and his face was contorted in a hazardous scowl that threatened to detonate all over anyone who'd dare push him too hard.

James heaved a few winded lung-replenishing breaths, then turned to a formally dressed hook-beaked fowl with blazing white and gold plumage. The patron bore tag on his chest labeled 'Manager' distinguishing him from the other guests, and held himself in proud accordance to his status.

"Here..." The fox plucked an envelope out of his dripping dinner jacket,"...is the damned marriage certificate. It's signed by me, my partner, and our local District Administrator as required by law."  
James trust it toward the avian manager, his outrage kept barely in-check behind his snarling muzzle.  
"Your people already saw this and gave us the green light when we booked the place, why the heck do _you_ need to see it _now?_"

"Law, tradition, and it weeds out undesirables..."  
The bright parrot sighed as he took the envelope, and extracted an official legal document from it.  
"If I simply let anyone get married in the hotel's chapel whenever they felt like it, I'd be overrun with all the worst sorts imaginable. After all, image is _everything_ in this business."  
The hotel manager didn't sound entirely convinced, even by his own words.

"Okay, fine, now can we _please_ finish the ceremony?"  
The agitated fox scraped through the still waterlogged fur of his brow, impatient.  
"The catering crew thinks the wedding's been called off, and they're about to sneak out of here any second."

"It's all my fault, really. I should've remembered this silly technicality sooner..."  
The manager glanced over the marriage certificate, then offered it back to James.  
"Everything looks to be in order, I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience Mr. McCloud, carry on."

"_Thank_ you!"  
He snatched the document from the bird's hand, and began a brisk march down the chapel aisle, leaving a trail of dripping water in his wake.

The soaking fuming groom was quickly joined by Peppy hare, who was stuffed into similarly uncomfortable formal-ware as his vulpine friend.  
"Sweet Solar, Jimmy! What happened?"  
An air of anxious concern clung to the hare, like an uncooperative piece of adhesive tape.

"Could you hang on to this?"  
James pressed the papers into his friend's hand, not stopping or making any sort of acknowledgment as he continued onward.

"You forgot the _marriage certificate?!_" Peppy exclaimed quietly, "You know the ceremony can't be carried out without~."

"I am_ not,_ in the mood for it right now Peppy..."  
The fox kept looking forward, toward the distant figure of his bride ahead.  
"Just tell me you still have the ring."

"Don't sweat it Jimmy, I got you covered."  
He produced a tiny drawstring pouch from a pocket, offering it to James.

The auburn fox took the pouch in his hand, and felt the minuscule loop of metal through it's velvet container as he continued his march down the aisle...

-

* * *

-

There were so many of them...

He stood over a broad glass case in the countertop of some jeweler's shop, combing his steely blue eyes over dozens upon dozens of rings in every style imaginable, and he was completely baffled by the overwhelming selection before him. Here was a fox who, among countless other aspects of flight combat, could tell someone the exact advantages and disadvantages between installing a continuous or oscillating deflector shield generator on a combat fightercraft, but was lost in this alien realm of jewelery. Gold or silver or some other material? Gemstone or no gemstone? What style? Simple or intricate? None of these things made a lick of sense to an ace combat pilot like James. How was he supposed to decide which ring would be the right one for his fiancé? Still, his eyes kept jumping from one piece to the next searching for some kind of answer, but it was his ears that found one...

"These look nice. They're simple, elegant, but somehow different..."  
That was Vixy, standing over another nearby glass case countertop stuffed with rings and other jewelry. There wasn't any hiding her pregnancy now. The vixen's swelling abdomen surged forward ahead of her, barely contained by her maternity fitted clothing. Vixy's emerald eyes remained fixated on a single point, scrutinizing the way an artist does a painting.

James came alongside her, and saw what she was examining with so much interest.  
"What's so different about these, Vix?"  
They weren't much more than a matching pair of fairly simple his-and-hers wedding bands, one a little slimmer than the other but otherwise identical. The two rings were of a silver-like metal polished to a mirror finish, but with a darker hue than most of the other pieces.

"For starters, I can't quite figure out what they're made of..."  
Without really thinking, Vixy's hand found it's way to one of James', and lightly grasped it. Neither were entirely aware, but neither minded since there was a more pressing matter at hand.  
"They're too dark to be silver, or platinum, or white gold."

From behind the counter, a sleek black-plumed avian employee overheard the vulpine couple's exchange, and intervened as the opportunity presented itself.  
"Ah, those?" the salesman inquired, but without seeking an answer. "Why, they're made of highly polished tungsten carbide with a non-toxic nickel binding agent."

Jame's eyebrows skewed in a knot and leapt upward, powered by his own astonishment.  
"Are you _serious?_"

"What is it?" Vixy asked him, as though she'd missed something.

"It's just..." The fox scratched his head and glanced around the modest jewelery store, taking an extra second to gather his wits "They use tungsten carbide for armor-piercing projectile rounds. I never thought they'd make _jewelery _with this stuff."

The sleek black bird let out a squawking chuckle, like he'd seen similar reactions before.  
"It's used to make heavy-duty industrial tool bits as well. You'll find this material is _extremely_ durable –highly resistant to scuffing, scratches, and most other wear-and-tear..."  
The avian jeweler opened the back of the glass case and retrieved the matching tungsten carbide bands, presenting them to the vulpine couple for closer inspection.  
"Even through the harshest everyday treatments, these pieces will still keep their lustrous shine for many years to come. That's something you simply can't say that about gold or platinum, as fine as those other materials are in their own right."

Vixy took James' rigid arm in hers. The fox had gone tense again – lost outside the familiar rush of life-and-death combat.  
"What do you think James? You sure pieced _my_ armor."  
She rested her head on his shoulder, and looked up at James with a goofy little smile on her face.

An accidental laugh leaked out of the fox, pulling him from a statuesque state the unfamiliar environment put him in.  
"That is such a corny line..."  
He picked up the thicker band, and found it quite heavy for its size; much heavier than steel, and stronger too. James turned the dense ring over in his hands, watching how its darkened mirror-like shine played against the rich auburn of his fur.  
"I guess these are pretty neat, huh?"  
Loosening up, James set the side of his own head down on top of Vixy's.

The copper-furred vixen reached out for the other tungsten carbide band, trying it out for herself as well.  
"My thoughts exactly, flyboy..."

-

* * *

-

After what felt like far too long, James McCloud finally made it to the front of the wedding chapel. There in front of a simple altar stood the stocky shaggy-furred canine clergyman who was supposed to carry out the ceremony. The fox pressed the velvet pouch into the minister's hand, and the two of them exchanged a wordless glance before the clergyman stepped aside, revealing the solitary bride standing at the altar.

Clothed in a brilliant white maternity-fitted wedding dress and with her back toward everyone else and was Vixy Reinard. In one hand she held a compact bridal bouquet, and used the other to support herself against the chapel's painfully ordinary altar. All the while, her exposed shoulders rose and sank with each carefully measured gasp of breath she took...

James approached her, cautiously, feeling his own pulse accelerate as the anxiety began to squeeze his nerves like a vice-grip.  
"I uh... look I screwed up Vix, big time..." The fox tugged at the suddenly tight collar of his tuxedo shirt, "I made a gigantic mistake on your biggest day, and you deserve _so_ much better than~"

"Will you just _shut-up?..._" Vixy steered herself around to face her groom.  
Her face showed no signs of anger, or sorrow, or fear – she was was winded, not exhausted but working hard nonetheless.  
"I Know you're trying to be romantic and everything, but I could honestly care less about thatemotional garbage right now."

James froze as his racing heart stumbled over the unexpected.  
"Huh?"

She thrust her free arm on the fox's shoulder, steadying herself.  
"The baby's done, and he's coming out."

"Now?"

"Yes _now!_"

"Are you sure?"

"Oh for the love of~"  
A groan erupted from her grimacing muzzle as she shuddered and flinched – a contraction, and a pretty powerful one too. Again, the vixen took her breath in the carefully measured gasps she was taught.

James held on to her shoulders with both hands all through her struggles.  
"Okay, Okay, I believe you Vix. You're definitely in labor this time."

A dull murmur drifted over guests in the pews, filling the wedding chapel with a quietly growing air of uncertainty. The shaggy furred minister was saying something to the guests calm them down, but neither James nor Vixy paid any attention to it.

"We need to get moving, and _fast..._" the breathless vixen managed between her gasps of breath, "Everything's happening a lot sooner and a lot quicker than I figured it would."

_Heh, story of my life..._  
The fox draped an arm over Vixy's shoulder, and he began to walk her toward exit on the far side.  
"So maybe we procrastinated the wedding too far, maybe our baby started out as an accident, maybe we even _met_ because of a screw-up; but I promise you, we are _not_ going to get this part wrong."  
The vixen's body contorted with another contraction, and other groan of exertion – both more extreme than the last. James gave her as much extra support he could, and quickened his pace back through the chapel aisle.  
"Right then, Devers hospital isn't far from here, and they've got that great new birthing center we toured last week~"

"Wait!" the shaggy minister called after them, jogging to catch-up, "Please, this'll only take a few seconds..."  
The bulky clergyman emptied two tiny velvet pouches, and a pair of tungsten carbide wedding bands dropped into the minister's free hand, the slimmer of which he held up to Vixy.  
"Vixiene Reinard, do you take this man to be your husband~"

"What? _Really?_"

"Well... do you?"

"Of course I do you idiot! What'd you think all this goddamn pomp-and-circumstance was for in the first place?!"  
Vixy thrust her left hand out, finders splayed wide open, and allowed the minister to slip the ring onto her finger.

The bulky canine held the other wedding band to James.  
"James McCloud, same question."

He quickly put his left hand out.  
"I do..." the ring was put on, and James backed away, "...I'm really sorry about Vixy, she's under a lot of stress at the~"

Vixy gripped the fox's arm and pulled him away.  
"Would you like me to shove-out the baby _here_ flyboy? or at Devers?"

"By the power vested in me..." the canine clergyman continued, "I now pronounce the two of you husband and~"  
The minister's speech was interrupted when a well-aimed bouquet found its mark squarely in his face.

"Ha! Good arm, Vix~"  
The vixen drew him into an accelerated kiss. Pressed against her, James could easily feel the child in Vixy's swollen belly.

She pulled loose from James and threw an arm across his shoulders.  
"Come on hubby, we've wasted enough time alr~"

Vixy began writhing and groaning under the monumental strain of another contraction. She probably would've fallen if it weren't for James holding her up.  
"I promised you we're gonna make it Vix, and that means we are _going_ to make it!"  
Mustering all his determination, and half carried the overstressed vixen out of the hotel's wedding chapel to the sound of a cheering crowd that seemed so distant at the time...  
-

* * *

-

The Corneria City University campus was the backdrop outside the wide lobby windows, with its proud collection of academic buildings and neatly landscaped grounds between them. The only thing amiss out those windows was the pouring rain hammering down. A white stretch limousine pulled up to the street curb just outside, and its occupants burst out of the rear passenger door. The muffled slam of the vehicle's door closing caught the staff's attention – those that looked saw the limousine pull away from the curb and drive off.

That's when the front door slid open in its tracks, and~  
"_Grrrraaaahhhh!_"  
A furious copper furred vixen staggered through the doorway in her wedding dress, assisted by a fox in black-tie formal wear who's jacket and bow tie came undone. Both were drenched to the bone from the torrential downpour, even after only mere seconds of exposure to it.  
"Could that hotel chauffeur have driven _any_ slower?! You'd think he wanted me to deliver in the limo the way he took his sweet time getting here!"

James helped the heaving vixen each step of the way, with one arm holding her up and the other holding her hand.  
"Well..." he muttered, shrugging "it _was_ a slick limousine~"

"You say something?!" she didn't hear it, so focused on her ordeal of birthing.

"Nothing!..." James sprang back, "I mean, you're doing great Vix, just hang in there a little bit longer."

"Sure... easy for _you_ to say... you're not the one about to cram a little _bundle of joy_ out your ass!"

The hysterical bride and groom were swarmed by a small cluster of the birthing center's staff – some were obviously medical personnel, some weren't. Their leader was a silky black-and-white collie type canine dressed partly in medical scrubs with the rest of her clothing casual, and spoke to the couple first.  
"I take it you're the one who called ahead about a fast-and-furious precipitous labor, McCloud?"

"Know anyone else about to have a baby in her own wedding dress?"  
Jame's reply drew a few chuckles and snickers from the gathered staff.

The collie allowed a smile, still keeping her professionalism intact.  
"But you made it here, and just in time by the looks of it. Right this way..."  
She led them out of the lobby and a short ways down a hallway with some of her subordinate staff in-tow behind.  
"How far apart are your contractions?"

"They're not stopping..." Vixy answered between gasping breaths. "It's just one right after another now..."

"Then we need to get moving..."  
The collie opened one of the doors along the hall and quickly ushered James, Vixy and the attending staff inside.

The room was a seamless combination of hotel room and hospital ward. On the one hand, there were all sorts of comfortable accommodations like a queen sized bed, full bathroom, and other non-institutional furniture. However, an station with a whole array of medical equipment on one side of the room told the true story.

Everyone moved very quickly and with a purpose – everyone except James and Vixy that is. While the focused staff swirled about the room like a space cruiser crew ordered to their battle-stations, Vixy was helped onto the bed and prepared for the monumental task ahead of her. James was with her through it all, his firm hand as the anchor in this stormy sea of activity, emotion, and otherwise unbearable pain...

"Alright..."  
The collie nurse-midwife from earlier was now positioned at the business end of Vixy's birth, outfitted with all the tools and equipment necessary to perform her solemn duty.  
"The baby's oriented, you're fully dilated, and your water broke just now. It looks like you're all set to go!"

James crouched down close to the anxious vixen, holding her hand firmly in his for comfort.  
"It's all you now Vix, you ready to do this?"

She drew in a deep lung-filling breath, mustering the determination to finish what began so long ago in just as passionate and intimate a moment between them...  
"Watch me, flyboy."

The collie nurse-midwife peered over Vixy's pulled-up wedding dress, interrupting the vulpine couple's brief moment.  
"I need you to push _now!_"

She squeezed Jame's hand, hard, and her face was drawn up in an excruciating grimace. Her arms and legs trembled, and the bulge of her stomach shifted underneath. Under the – effort of her contractions, Vixy's grimace extended, baring her teeth, and forcing her voice out at last...  
"_hhhheeeerrrraaaahhhh!..._"  
The end of the push left the vixen exhausted and gasping down each desperate breath just to keep herself going on.

"Wow..." The nurse-midwife's eyebrows rose up, surprised but impressed. "Are you sure this your first childbirth?"

With her free hand, Vixy reached down to her business end, feeling with her hand what her eyes couldn't see.  
"James I... I can feel his head!..."  
Her eyes lit up, her grip tightened, and she took her breath in steady pumps as she tapped into a new-found reservoir of energy from this tactile contact with her son.

With every ounce of effort she could mobilize, the vixen took one last breath, and bore-down in one last heave...  
"Hyyyyaaaahhh!"  
The final shriek of her burning pain and unyielding determination came, and went, and blended straight into the first cry from the first breath of her newborn son.

"He's out!" the collie announced from the business end.

She and a few other nurses continued their duties throughout this momentous occasion, an everyday occurrence for them. There was some business with towels, some medical shears, so much hidden behind the wedding dress. Within seconds, one of the nurses handed a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft white towel over the threshold and into Vixy's arms. The bundle had a face, a pair of arms, and what little fur it had was still quite damp. He had a voice too, calmer now that he was lying against his mother's chest.

"You did it Vix..."  
James wrapped his arm around her shoulders, embracing her tightly.  
"You stepped up and _delivered. _So much for our honeymoon, huh?"

For the first time in what felt like ages, Vixy had a laugh – a small one, but a laugh nonetheless.  
"I think we've got a little 'honeymoon' now that'll last for _years_..."

"Ah, and there's the afterbirth."  
The nurses were all still at work, though less busy now. The collie nurse-midwife stepped around to the bedside, eagerly carrying on with the new and extremely relieved parents.  
"We can go ahead and have your baby examined and a birth certificate made-out whenever you're~"

"Can it wait like, fifteen minutes?" James stopped her with a wave of his weary hand.  
"It's been a... rough day, and we'd like to have some quiet time alone, with just us and the baby. We don't even have a _name_ for him yet."

"I see." The collie nodded, stepping-down a few gears, "You can send for someone as soon as you're ready to continue. And congratulations on a healthy, if very fast birth."  
She turned back and sent all the staff out of the room before departing herself, leaving James and Vixy alone with their seconds old son.

"Guess we'd better give him a name."  
The tired vixen stroked the infant's tiny muzzle with her finger, causing him to squirm in his blankets.  
"What could you call a fox McCloud?... sorry, tripped over my words there."

James reached out, clasping Vixy's fondling hand.  
"No wait, that's it: _Fox_ _McCloud_."

"Seriously?"

"Why not?" He stroked the infant's head, flipping over his ears. "It rolls off the tongue nicely, it's easy to remember, and it has a little kick of spunk behind it."

"Fox..." Vixy tried it out.  
At the sound of his name, Fox McCloud opened his eyes and saw his mother and father for the very first time...

-

* * *

-

The auditorium was packed with hundreds of people, across all arrays of species. The stage in front was almost completely clear except for a podium set in the center. A projector screen just behind the podium showed only the letters _CRI_ in a simple yet elegant font.

On one side of the stage, a well-dressed figure holding a hand microphone was in the process of ending his speech.  
"...and it gives me great pleasure to present to you our new Chief Director: Dr. Enos Andross."

The audience responded with a polite round of applause as Dr. Andross crossed the stage to the center podium. The academic ape strode with confidence, more than comfortable in front of a large group of curious listeners...

"Thank you, thank you all very much; and yes, I can confirm those widely spread hypotheses that I have been appointed as your new CD. It's a bold choice, I know, but you need not worry yourselves over this change of leadership, for I am but your guide in the enterprising endeavors you undertake. The continuing journey must be undertaken by _everyone_ – from myself and the supporting directors all the way down to our absolutely outstanding custodial staff, who keep the floors and essential utilities in pristine condition. Honestly, I don't know how we could _ever_ go on if the toilets never got fixing when they needed it..."

The audience rumbled with many laughs of varying degrees, but Andross' pause was only a short one.

"Now, I understand there have been a number of difficulties in the past regarding this institute, I too have had to overcome _many_ insurmountable obstacles to get here. I tell you now: do not dwell on them – do not let these troubles weigh you down. We shall leave the shackles of our burdensome pasts behind us, and we shall hold our heads high and alert as we peer ever forward to the horizon rushing straight at us. Be ever vigilant, for we must be ready when it comes – ready to accept the inconceivable as truth, ready to expand the boundaries of the impossible, and ready to put to shame those who dare say to you _'it cannot be done!'..._"

The audience was so in-tune, so concentrated on Dr. Andross' charismatic performance, that the entire auditorium fell silent when the ape took a carefully measured pause...

He stepped down the level of his address, but injected it with the solemn dignity of duty.  
"As contributors to and proud members of the Cerinia Research Institute, I assure you all that as your new Chief Director, as your humble guide, we shall be creating nothing less than the _Future..._

-

* * *

-

The sound of crying woke them up... again.

The room was dark, the digital display of the clock read 3:42 in the morning, and the baby monitor continued blaring that insistent cry from the baby...

James McCloud wrenched his head to the other side, where his wife lay... sleeping?  
"You want me to handle this one?"

His only response was a tired groan, and she didn't move other than a slight twitch – close enough to an answer.

The fox fumbled out of bed, found that pair of pants, and didn't bother searching for a shirt. He steered himself out of the master bedroom and down the hall to the room next-door. No need to turn on the lights, the route was... familiar – so familiar that James might as well have been sleepwalking to the nursery...

He got there, got the door open, and got the lights activated to nothing more than a dim glow. The room was packed with the usual: changing table, baby-care storage suites, crib, noisy baby... James half yawned half sighed, and dragged himself to the place where his son was supposed to be asleep, but wasn't.

Fox had developed more in these past weeks. His fur was still in its kit-colors, but the face structure was an uncanny copy of his father's, and his eyes were the same brilliant shade of green as his mothers.

James reached down into the crib and carefully hoisted his bawling son up into his arms.  
"Okay Foxie, lets run down the old checklist..."

He sniffed down the infant's back.  
"You don't reek, so no diaper changing..."

He checked the clock.  
"You just got fed, so no feeding..."

He just held Fox in his arm and stared at him with his tired eyes, not realizing that the crying stopped.  
"Alright, what is it?"

The baby reached up, clenched James' whiskers in his little fist, and yanked on them with startling force.  
"Hey let go of those~ ow, ow, _ow!_"

Little Fox giggled, terribly amused by his father's painful reaction.  
"You think that's funny, do you? _I'll_ show you funny..."  
James attacked his son with a flurry of flailing fingers, causing Fox to squeal and squirm in his bouts of laughter.

"_James..." _Vixy's sleepy voice droned through the baby monitor, _"You're supposed to calm the baby down, not get him all excited."_

"Yeah, yeah, I was uh... just getting to that part..."  
He carried the infant to a wall-panel, and punched a few keys to get a piece soothing music playing through the room's integrated audio system. To the quiet and easy melody filling the space, James McCloud gently rocked Fox in his arms as he slowly drifted off to sleep...

-

* * *

-

_By profession I am a soldier and take pride in that fact. But I am prouder – infinitely prouder – to be a father. A soldier destroys in order to build; the father only builds, never destroys. The one has the potentiality of death; the other embodies creation and life. And while the hordes of death are mighty, the battalions of life are mightier still._

_-_General Douglas MacArthur-


	26. An Account Mostly False

_**An Account Mostly False**__**  
Part I**_

-Some Time Ago-

_*Smack!*_

Scott Aberdeen struck himself below the cheek, and wiped the palm of his hand against the damp, khaki fabric of his unbuttoned shirt.  
"Bloody gnats..."  
The terrier's fur was drenched oily black, partly from sweat and partly from the sheer humidity of the most dense jungle underbrush imaginable. The sunlight came down filtered through layer upon layer of vegetation, split into thin bands by the leaves, vines and branches of all the overcrowded trees. The air was hot and thick like the inside of a sauna, but in that nauseating sickly way that almost always comes with clouds of flies and other tiny irritating winged insects.

"Ye sure this is the right spot then?" Scott asked, waving away the flies in front of his face.

Behind the terrier were two figures: one a lanky thin-muzzled canine who carried himself as the obvious leader, the other was a diminutive mustard yellow avian burdened with a heavy backpack

The lanky canine stepped forward toward the terrier.  
"I am absolutely sure it's here..."  
He ran the fingerclaws of his bony hand through the thick blanket of plant matter.  
"The vegetation would've grown-over the entrance after so long, after so many centuries."

"Alright Harrison, I get it..."  
Scott drew his impact claymore and started hacking away at the dense underbrush.  
"It might take... about that long just tae... cut through all this bleedin~"

_*Clank!*_

The blade struck something hard behind the blanket of vines, something not unlike stone.  
"Heh, or maybe not."

"Step aside, Aberdeen..."  
Harrison clawed at the sword's point of contact, ripping away the vines and ferns in a frenzy. He soon stripped away the last layer of plants, and revealed a smooth surface of dark gray rock underneath. The lanky canine felt along the stone wall, searching, feeling. And he found it: a round hole about a centimeter across in the otherwise uniform surface.  
"Yes, yes, this is _it!_"  
Harrison produced a small object from a chain hanging around his neck, something which looked like a small violet-tinted quartz crystal, and plunged it into the corresponding hole in the wall. For only an instant, a point of light flashed across the stone surface. Then the wall began to shake, trembling as if in an earthquake.

"Stand back." Harrison said, motioning for Scott to back away.

The smooth stone split into to two halves, cracking open like the pages of an ancient tome. When everything stopped, the surface was gone, and a narrow corridor of the same gray stone-like material descended underground in its place. There was light down this corridor – an quiet iridescent glow that didn't seem to emanate from any single source. The light was simply there.

After a few seconds standing speechless, the lanky canine stepped through, and began along the corridor's gentle downward slope.  
"Let's go..."

After sheathing his blade, Scott Aberdeen and the mustard yellow avian followed Harrison down.

"Whoa, hold on guys..."  
The songbird stopped a moment, and slipped a monitoring device off her belt.  
"The ion radiation just jumped point-6 rads per second in here. I'll bet that's were the ambient light is coming from."

Scott looked around, searching for answers.  
"Anything we ought be worried about?"

The avian shook her head.  
"We should be okay as long as we're not here more than a few hours..." she said as she set down her pack, and began rummaging through it, "I still recommend we all take an inoculation for good measure..."  
She produced thee thin cylinders from a pocket of her pack – autoinjector tubes. The mustard yellow songbird uncapped on of them and injected the dose into her arm before offering the other two.

"I'm not taking any chances."  
Scott accepted the tube and injected himself with the inoculation without hesitation.

"And you, Dr. Harrison?" The avian held out the last autoinjector to the lanky canine.

"Thanks, but I won't need any."  
Harrison turned and began down the corridor again.

"But~"

"It's alright Beverly..." the canine said over his shoulder, "I know what I'm doing."

Rolling her eyes, Beverly replaced the unused tube and hoisted her pack onto her back again.  
"Suit yourself, it's your DNA after all."

The group continued down the eerie corridor with few words. The air was far cooler inside, but carried a hint of charge similar the distinct smell of an imminent thunderstorm. Still without a source, the light persisted all around them as a mysterious blue glow.

"This place gives me the creeps." Scott muttered, glancing around the area as if expecting booby traps, or something sinister.

Beverly appeared to have similar anxieties, and stifled them with speech.  
"It's all the same architecture as the Saurian's most important monuments, but in much better condition. Just look at these floors and walls..."  
She gestured around them as they walked.  
"You see there's no creeping vines, no fungi or lichen, or any organic material whatsoever. This ambient radiation would've killed off any organisms that tried to settle in. How I would've loved to stay a bit longer and sample some of this stone material, but that's not why we're here..."

"That's right Beverly, we're here for something far more important."  
Ahead of the other two, Harrison turned down an abrupt corner.

"And when are ye tell _me_ what's so damned important?"  
Scott followed, intending to catch up.

The lanky canine had reached a stone door similar to the entrance far behind them, but without any jungle overgrowth.  
"We won't have to tell you Aberdeen, you'll see it for yourself..."  
Again, Harrison inserted the small violet quartz into the hole. The crystal flashed with a brief blaze of light, and the two halves of stone crept apart from each other.

The room beyond was a great deal larger, almost gymnasium sized. It bore the same architecture and was lit with the same sourceless indigo glow permeating through the rest of the place. The center floor was dominated almost entirely by a broad platform raised a few feet off the ground. The center of this platform held only one thing: a lone statue in the form of a figure. The form seemed to resemble an ape standing at perfect attention holding a kind of sceptre in one hand, but the facial proportions on the head were all off. The mouth was shrunken, the forehead much larger, and the nose and chin far more pronounced than any primate species in Lylat. It was at the same time both an alien and eerily familiar shape...

"Is that what we're here for?" Scott asked, pointing out the statue.

"In a way..."  
Harrison stepped into the room to a set of steps leading to the top of the platform.  
"How effective is your impact claymore on rock?"

"Uh, it'll crack most stones clean in two if thrust in hard enough."

Beverly barely contained a laugh.  
"Sorry, it's... never mind."

Harrison ignored her, continuing with Scott.  
"What we need is _inside_ that statue, and we need you to break it open."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"There's something ye're not telling me here."  
The terrier stepped forward, closing in on Harrison.

"It'll make more sense once you step onto the platform..."  
The lanky canine gestured to the steps, inviting Scott to continue forward.  
"Good luck."

Scott climbed the short flight of steps to the top of the platform and began walking toward the statue. A light flashed from the statue similar to the doors, and then it came to life. The stone figure opened its small angled eyes, both of which shone brightly with a pale blue light, and the sceptre in its hands extended into a full-length staff. The stone figure took a few heavy steps, whirling the staff around itself with a warrior's precision.

The terrier stopped in his tracks, stunned.  
"What's all this then?!"

"The inscription here reads _Test of Prowess_..." Harrison replied, looking over a text carved into the steps, "So you'll just have to prove your prowess."

"This just gets stranger and stranger..."  
Scott drew his impact claymore and assumed a well-practiced swordsman's fighting stance.  
"Yer move, ye stone-faced git."

The statue stood waiting with its staff held ready, its two eyes of light never leaving the oily black terrier for an instant.

"So that's the way it's goin'tae be then?"  
Scott stepped forward and performed an experimental thrust, but the statue spun the staff in a defensive sweep that knocked the blade aside.

The terrier started off as simply as possible, prodding his peculiar opponent with a basic series of routine slices chops and thrusts, and the statue's style gradually revealed itself over time. It used sweeping spins as a defense, flinging blows aside with the staff whirling like a turbine. The statue favored lighting-quick thrusts for its offense, but also used a variety of sweeps, strikes and slams when appropriate. Though the staff can strike with both ends, it can only strike with a single end at a time – it was still a single weapon. The staff's advantages at a distance could be easily undermined if one can get inside the whirling barrier of spinning staff...

The opportunity came when the statue came forward with a regular down-strike. Scott knocked the blow to his right, then quickly slipped the claymore's blade over the statue's right arm and under its weapon's shaft. From here, the terrier stepped closer and cranked his weapon in a counterclockwise motion, and the sheer leverage forced the stone fingers to lose grip of the staff. Scott kept the sword's rotating momentum going, smashing the claymore's cross-guard into the statue's face. The terrier kept going still, spinning from the cross-guard blow into a back-kick while simultaneously drawing his large-bore blaster handgun with his empty left hand. The statue-warrior had been knocked back a few feet as Scott had expected – he brought the handgun to bear on his opponent and fired three blazing shots into the stunned stone figure.

_* Blam! *_ _Blam! *_ _Blam! *_

Nothing.

The statue's prominent nose had broken off from the cross-guard blow, and three black scorches marked its chest, but the stone figure was otherwise unaffected. The statue-warrior came at the terrier again.

The stone figure kept hammering at Scott with the same unrelenting robotic precision to its staff technique. The stone opponent wasn't going to end this fight quickly, and it didn't need to. It'd only be a matter of time for Scott Aberdeen to become tired and worn out, for his own technique to get sloppy from exhaustion. That's when the statue warrior, which didn't use organic muscles or need any breath, could easily finish the breathless terrier off. In many respects, the battle was almost like fighting an opponent wearing power-armor...

"That's it!"

Power-armor clad fighters retained most of their natural agility, were notoriously heavy, and practically indestructible, much like this statue-warrior. The way to beat power-armor was to strike at the weak points, the joints. But the statue-warrior had no 'weak point' at its joints, it was _made_ of stone. However tough this statue-warrior was, the broken nose proved it was far from indestructible, and had its weaknesses. Wood splinters and snaps, metal bends and peels away, and stone will crack and crumble.  
One good thrust is all it'd take...

The statue-warrior came in for a low sweep at Scott's left keg. He blocked the strike with a low guard and followed-through with a heavy downward strike. As expected, the statue-warrior caught the blade with the middle of the staff. Scott lunged forward underneath, intending to slam the claymore's hard pommel into his opponent's chin with an uppercut blow, but it never connected...

"Agh!"

The statue-warrior intercepted the terrier with a solid full-footed kick to the chest, as if the stone figure were kicking down a door. The blow knocked Scott away several feet hard on his back, yet he managed to use the momentum to roll backwards onto his feet again. There were definitely some cracked ribs and bruising, but the terrier had more immediate concerns and couldn't be bothered. He stepped forward and resumed battle once more against his stony opponent...

Blade and staff clashed again in the deadly dance of the duel. One fighter unnaturally patient and methodical, the other brash and uncanny. Neither could find an opening in the other to exploit, and the fight seemed a stalemate for some time. Time; the more it passed, the more Scott Aberdeen wore himself out, and the more his technique would slip while his opponent held rock steady. He needed to end the fight, and end it quickly. When the statue-warrior thrust its staff once again, the terrier was only barely able to deflect it down, between his legs...

Scott reached down and grabbed the staff in his left hand. The terrier chambered his blade back for one final thrust, and engaged the weapon's impact mechanism for the fatal blow. But before he could launch his attack, the statue-warrior hefted the staff upward over its head, with Scott still holding on. He kept on going, where the floor was coming down to crush him on the other side. And there was something else: the statue-warrior's unprotected back. There weren't even seconds left...

Scott flipped the claymore into a backhand grip, readied the blade over his right shoulder, and waited for the right instant – there'd only be one chance at this. Descending headfirst toward the floor above him, the terrier jammed the point of his sword into the small of his opponent's back as hard and as quickly as he could~

_-_

_-----_

_-_

When Scott opened his eyes, he was staring at the hilt of his sword, stuck straight into the statue-warrior's back. He was laying on the platform floor just behind his opponent, where he must've landed on his back. The terrier pushed himself onto his feet, staggering from the shooting pains. Those cracked ribs we sure as hell stinging now. The impaled statue-warrior stood stock still, holding the staff over its lifeless head. Scott grasped the hilt of his impact claymore, reengaged the impact mechanism, and twisted the blade with whatever might he still had.

_* Crack! *_

The statue broke into several pieces, collapsing into nothing more than a pile of rubble across the platform. Scott brushed the dust off his blade, sheathed it, and noticed something off. The pieces of broken stone began to glow with a blue light, and emitted a sound like a hundred voices all whispering at once. Then a small luminescent cloud, radiating the same indigo, blue rose out of the debris into the center of the chamber.

"Get back Aberdeen, you have no idea what that is..."  
Harrison had stepped onto the platform, striding steadily toward the statue-warrior's broken remains.

"And you do?" Scott asked, backing away as ordered.

The lanky canine slowed down, gazing upon the small glowing cloud with the same wonder as a child.  
"I will soon enough."

The cloud descended, and hovered in front of Harrison for a few moments, like it was evaluating him. Then the cloud surged forward, knocking the lanky canine off his feet as he became engulfed in the glowing aurora, but he didn't fall. Instead, Harrison was lifted several feet off the ground, where he hung in the air suspended by nothing. The glowing blue aurora began to fade, and Harrison descended back to the floor. The mysterious luminescent cloud had all but disappeared by the time he made contact with solid ground.

Scott reached down and helped Harrison to his feet  
"What the bloody hell just happened tae ye?"

The lanky canine looked up, and in his eyes were a pair of bright violet lights where only his black pupils should've been.  
"I'm alright, that's what it was supposed to do."

"And _what_ is supposed tae do that?!" The oily black terrier demanded, "I've seen me fair share of strange happenings, but this business is something straight from a cheap fairy-story."

"The only difference between magic and science, is an understanding..."  
He fished a pair of dark lensed sunglasses out of a pocket and put them on, concealing his shining eyes.  
"If I told you exactly what you were getting into, would you have believed me? Would you still have taken this job?"

Scott couldn't come up with a response, and only fidgeted in his speechlessness.

"You don't have to answer..."  
Harrison turn and began toward the exit.  
"If you're finished back there Beverly, we need to leave."

The mustard yellow avian had gone to the fallen statue-warrior, and was collecting a few of the smaller pieces when Harrison called to her.  
"Sure thing."  
But before she left, she picked the statue-warrior's staff from the rubble, which had shrunken back into the compact form the stone figure first held.

_-_

_-----_

_-_

The group left the same way they came in through the narrow, lifeless corridor to the surface. None of them spoke a word on the way out, the silence marred only by the sound of their own footsteps. When they reached the surface, the group was greeted by the jungle's sweltering heat, the glare of the suddenly bright light, and a surprise.

Seemingly from nowhere, four soldiers in unmarked camouflaged uniforms materialized out from behind their cover. They all wore masks and headsets that covered their faces, and were equipped with a variety of top quality small arms. When the soldiers moved, it was with the silent and sure step of only the most elite.

"Drop your weapons." one of the soldiers ordered, with an assault rifle aimed squarely at Scott's face.

And the terrier did so, slinging the impact claymore and scabbard off his back, and removing his blaster handgun from its holster.

Another voice spoke, but it wasn't any of the soldiers.  
"Arno Harrison, you surprise me. I didn't think you had it in you."  
The latest speaker stepped out from behind a nearby tree, casually, as if he were just taking a pleasant stroll. He was an eagle plumed white on his head, dark brown on his wings, and dressed in unremarkable but appropriate clothing for the hot and humid tropical climate.

"Who are you?" Harrison demanded, "What's going on here?"

The eagle moved in, stopping between two of the silent soldiers.  
"That's not important, but what _is_ important is who you are and what you're doing here."

"What are you talking about? I'm just a scientist."

"Of course you are, and why would an innocent scientist like yourself need to conduct field research in secret, with such a heavily armed escort?"  
He pointed out Scott standing to the lanky canine's left a few feet.  
"Let me make this simple Dr. Harrison, I have you pinned down in direct violation of the Sauria treaty on at least a dozen counts, all of which Union Congress can rightfully prosecute~"

"I don't believe this!..." Harrison snapped back, infuriated. "You have absolutely no idea what's been here all along, do you? Not even the Saurian natives understand what they have, and they _live_ on this goddamn planet. There's no telling what could happen if it were to fall into the wrong hands."

"My thoughts exactly..."  
The eagle stepped back, speaking in the same nonchalant tone of an ordinary conversation despite the extraordinary circumstances.  
"So are you going to come with me quietly? Or do I have to take you as a prisoner?"

Arno Harrison glared back at him through the dark lenses of his glasses.  
"I didn't come this far and go through all this trouble to see my life's work strangled by red tape."  
The lights began to shine through his glasses, and the aurora started to flicker in his hands.

The eagle released a disappointed sigh, shaking his head.  
"I'm sorry it has to be this way."  
He gestured forward toward the group, and the soldiers closed in on the lanky canine.

Harrison held his hands in front of him, both now ablaze in the blue aurora.  
"Just try it!"  
Lightning cracked and erupted from his outstretched arms, striking each of the camouflage-clad figures in the face before they had a chance to fire. The soldiers' cries of pain were barely heard over the crackling screech, and the sunlight was overwhelmed for a time by the blazing blue arcs of electrostatic discharge.

The lightning stopped, and the four soldiers' lifeless bodies fell dead to the jungle floor. The mutilated corpses stank of scorched flesh, still sizzling and smoking from the bizarre attack. Their faces were burnt into featureless black husks which barely clung to their skulls, and the headsets were nothing more than twisted melted shells.

Arno Harrison appeared unharmed, even cracking a satisfied smile at his deadly handiwork. But then his breathing became a labored wheezing, and his knees started to buckle beneath him. The lanky canine collapsed to the ground as he was overcome by a brutal fit of coughs, hacking up an inky black liquid onto the jungle floor.

"Dr. Harrison!"  
Beverly rushed to the fallen scientist, helping him onto his back. But when she took her hand from Harrison's arm, his fur fell out as if it wasn't even attached in the first place.

"What's happening tae him?" Scott asked as he scooped up his handgun

"I don't know." the mustard yellow avian answered, "It's like radiation poisoning, but all at once."

"See what ye can do..."  
The terrier brought his weapon up and quickly scanned the trees for any movement, any sign of reinforcements. The four unknown soldiers were quite dead and not a threat. The nonchalant eagle however was nowhere to be found – no body, and no signs that he stuck around.

Deeming the area secure, Scott holstered his high-caliber handgun and went to investigate one of the soldier's bodies. The closest fell on his back, still clutching the grip of his state-of-the-art modular assault rifle – definitely more than a mere grunt, or gun for hire. The terrier stripped away the flex-armor vest and undid the military-style jacket underneath, where the dead soldier's ID tags hung around his neck.

[POOLE, FRANCIS, K]  
[M8564902, C/B+]  
[CSOF: Ε]  
[NORELPREF]

It was an ID tag for the Cornerian Special Forces.

Scott immediately stepped back, and drew his handgun once again as he surveyed his surroundings. A second wave could be anywhere, lurking, stalking. Special Forces were deployed almost exclusively either for the highest level of danger or the highest level of secrecy, often both in tandem. The real question mark was still who that eagle was, and what interest he has in Dr. Harrison's work...

The terrier returned where Beverly tended the downed canine scientist, still anxious of the environment around him.  
"How's he doing?" Scott asked.

Beverly rubbed a hand against her forehead, and answered in a flat, matter-of-fact tone that almost seemed out of place considering the circumstances.  
"He's dead."

"Then there's nothing more we can do."  
The terrier reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, but we really~"

The mustard yellow avian quickly stood up from Harrison's dead body, cutting Scott off.  
"We should leave, now."  
Without a second's hesitation, she hefted her pack back onto her shoulders and started on her way.

"Aye, I was just about tae suggest that..."  
Scott retrieved his impact claymore and scabbard, and continued back down the trail they came in on.

-

* * *

-

_History is an account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves; and soldiers, mostly fools._

-Ambrose Bierce-

-

* * *

-

Author Note:

I am at a turning point in writing this story. Currently, I'm debating whether to continue _Legacy_ as a single story or to break up the coming sections into distinct volumes, most likely as a trilogy.

I've grappled with this issue for some time now, and I'm just not sure which direction to take it. Your input is much appreciated.


	27. An Account Mostly False II

_**An Account Mostly False  
Part II  
**_

The office was furnished with a combination of both elegant simplicity of modern, and well-maintained antiques. For example, though the principle desk in the center was made of a aged dark hardwood, it was also equipped with a number of gadgets tucked away unseen. One such gadget was the holographic projectors tucked into the corners of the desktop surface, which showed a news program detailing the conviction of Dr. Enos Andross. The ape appeared both bewildered and outraged, but with an academic dignity that made it seem justified. Then the holographic display flickered out, revealing the figure on the other side of the desk...

"You've most definitely put me on the edge of my seat Conrad..."  
He was an older sandy furred lion, with his neatly trimmed mahogany mane showing a few bands of gray in places. The lion sported the typical office attire of a simple suit and tie. However, the plaque placed on the front of his desk read _'_Luther Goldwyn, Director of Central Intelligence'.  
"And I can't _wait_ to hear how the rest of the story goes..."  
Luther leaned forward on his elbows, casting a cool, expectant gaze across the desk.

Conrad Carrion occupied a seat opposite Goldwyn, sitting straight and stiff with a jittery nervousness he did his best to conceal.  
"I know it's not pretty sir, but it's the best I or anyone else in LCI could've done with the kind of situation on my hands."

"Indeed, it can be such a bothersome business when you're forced to cover your ass that way..."  
The lion leaned back in his chair, and spoke with an ironically casual tone considering the subject matter.  
"But Conrad, did it ever occur to you that there might not have been a situation in the first place if you'd simply put that lump of meat behind your eyes to good use? You could've avoided Dr. Harrison's death entirely with only a few simple steps, and he could've been quite ready to cooperate once safe in our protective custody."

"I didn't kill him!" the eagle snapped, "I had every intention to retrieve him alive and unharmed."

"So what went wrong then?"

Carrion went stiff again, struggling to find the words.  
"There was an... unexpected complication."

"There most certainly was..."  
Luther Goldwyn released a low grumbling sigh, slowly nodding his maned head as he kept his gaze pinned squarely on the eagle across from him.  
"It seems Dr. Arno Harrison was placed under needless duress, causing him to lash out in agitated desperation which resulted in his bizarre albeit accidental death, and the subsequent deaths of four elite soldiers deployed to assist you."

Infuriated, Conrad shot up from the chair, pounded his fist against the dark hardwood desktop.  
"The man was shooting _lightning bolts_ out of his hands! What the hell was I supposed to do about that?!"

"His attack was provoked out of fear for his life..." the lion replied, keeping his confident cool in the face of Carrion's irritability. "Which means you _weren't_ supposed to frighten the poor fellow half to death with a Special Forces fireteam."

"Arno Harrison had connections in the black market and was accompanied on his expedition by a highly skilled mercenary..."  
He backed off, but not any less adamant than before, and returned to the seat opposite Director Goldwyn.  
"I wasn't going to take any chances sir, we can't afford to. Deploying soldiers from CSOF's Dagger was a necessary precaution."

"I understand that, but we also can't afford to wield our authority like a blunt instrument where a scalpel would be far more effective..."  
Luther leaned forward, resting his elbows against the desk and clasping his hands together in front of him.  
"Dagger operatives are _not_ garden variety grunts Conrad, nor was Dr. Harrison himself really a threat worthy of their attention. Yet the combination of your heavy handed antics and ignorance of the dangers somehow managed to get them _all_ killed."  
The lion said no more, tightening his patient gaze on Carrion's nerves like a vice grip.

The eagle massaged his heavy forehead, squirming under Goldwyn's steady pressure.  
"With all due respect sir, how could I have _possibly_ been aware of the unique danger posed by Arno Harrison? I've never seen or heard of anything like what happened on Sauria."

"These are strange times we live in..."  
Luther Goldwyn relaxed his posture slightly, allowing his hands to rest on desktop surface.  
"The rules of what works and what doesn't have to keep up with constantly changing circumstances, or there will be countless more incidents in the future like your spectacular debacle. Why do you think I wanted Dr. Harrison's cooperation in the first place? He was one of the leading minds on Saurian xenoarchaeology, and we were trying to steer him away from the black market investors he turned to out of desperation. Your failure represents a missed opportunity for the Agency to move forward and develop another level of understanding in this rapidly evolving environment..."  
The lion paused for a moment, averting his eyes downward as he ran a hand through his thick mahogany mane.  
"However, I'm afraid the loss of Harrison alone is not your most disgraceful shortcoming."

Carrion stiffened again, bracing himself for what could only be bad news.  
"I'm listening."

The aging feline director took a slow breath, and proceeded with the grizzly business at hand.  
"The soldiers of Dagger are used to making sacrifices, that's their job, they're not afraid to lay down their lives for the success of the mission. All they ask in return is that their sacrifices make a difference for the betterment of Corneria and Lylat as a whole..."  
He entered a few commands into a panel on the corner of the desk, and the holographic display sprung up between Carrion and Goldwyn once again. This time the images presented were a series of four Cornerian military personnel profiles. All four of them were listed as deceased, killed in action.  
"Can you tell me what the Agency has gained from the deaths of these soldiers Conrad? Can you look their commanding officers in the eye and justify the ultimate sacrifices on your behalf?"

The eagle regained some of his composure, speaking with the mechanical fluidity of turning cogwheels.  
"I had a cover set up for this very reason sir. We can tell CSOF command the same thing we told everyone else~"

"Enos Andross is little more than an acclaimed professor of physical sciences at CCUniversity, who just so happens to have a special interest in xenoarchaeology..."  
With a single strike of a key, the four profiles blinked out of existence when the holographic projectors were deactivated.  
"Now they may be glorified soldiers, but the commanders of the Cornerian Special Operations Forces are anything but stupid. They'll understand your cover is little more than a ruse; they know we do it all the time. Your actions have already damaged our standing with the military branches as it is, but you may as well be dumping oil on the fire if you seriously intend to present this _strawman_ as your prize."

"So what _will_ we tell them?"

"The truth, or at least enough of it..." Goldwyn began with confident stability, "CSOF command will be informed that their fine soldiers were lost due to a failure on the part of Lylat Central Intelligence, and that proper steps have been taken to minimize this sort of failure in the future."

Carrion went stiff again, gradually realizing that he's been painted into a corner.  
"What do you mean? What steps?"

"I have given this a great deal of consideration, but given these recent events and your clumsy methods in handling them, I feel you are no longer able to adequately serve this Agency in the capacity we require."

"You're firing me."  
The eagle remained still, as if it hadn't quite sunk in yet.

"Not unless I have to..."  
The lion opened a drawer in his desk, from which he extracted a short letter printed on a single sheet of paper.  
"I will instead allow you the dignity to officially resign from your position in Lylat Central Intelligence. We can put a history and profile together for you that will allow you to pursue any other career of your choice unhindered by the burden of forced termination."

Carrion's pace picked up when he realized the paper was in-fact a formal letter of resignation.  
"Luther, sir, I made a few mistakes. Give me another chance, I can go back and set things straight."

"This _is_ your second chance..."  
Goldwyn held the letter up for clarity, but otherwise maintained his steady and confident composure.  
"I could've chosen to humiliate you with a demeaning reassignment to menial tasks, or I could've cut you off silently without any notice whatsoever – I could probably even let Dagger assassinate you themselves if I thought it prudent..."  
Luther Goldwyn slid the neatly typed letter of resignation across his desk toward Carrion, along with a pen with which to sign it.  
"It's so much easier on everyone, you especially, if you simply show yourself out the door."

The eagle remained still and stiff, yet his eyes kept bouncing up and down the lines of the letter. He reread each syllable of text, over and over again, as if to confirm that what he saw was actually real.  
"I..."  
Resigned to his fate, he picked the pen up in his hand and scrawled his signature in the open margin below the text body.  
"...Thank you, sir."

The lion took the signed letter and filled in his own signature underneath Carrion's.  
"I wish you the best of luck with your new life..."

Without another word, Conrad Carrion stood up from the chair, turned his back to LCI Director Luther Goldwyn, and left.

-

* * *

_What is history? An echo of the past in the future; a reflex from the future on the past._

-Victor Hugo-

* * *

-

-Some Time Afterward-

The office of the Director of Central Intelligence was much the same as it had been before, with its eclectic mix of modern innovations juxtaposed against the rich heritage of classics. One example of this complimentary contrast was the tea set now occupying Goldwyn's desktop; an icon of traditional hospitality, updated with a temperature-controlled teapot that could heat itself to a preprogrammed setting. The tea's warm, slightly citrus aroma broke up the stale mechanical air of Goldwyn's office. Luther himself wasn't behind his imposing dark hardwood desk at all, but standing at his full great height off to one side, conversing with his guest...

"Huh, well I'll be damned."  
Pete was out of uniform for the time, and with a mug of dark steamy tea in one hand.

"As you no doubt understand, we'll have to pick up his slack now that he's gone." The lion began, pouring himself another cup of tea from the set on his desk. "You worked the closest with Conrad as the Agency's most reliable liaison with the Cornerian military. So I'm going to trust your best judgment on what to do about the mess he left us."

"Me?" the rabbit asked, astonished. "I'm the one who had those Dagger boys deployed with Carrion, I ordered them to their deaths."

"On Conrad's suggestion, which he handled with a disastrous lack of finesse. You were not at fault..."  
Luther set the teapot down, and went about his preferred additives; a thin slice of citrus fruit with a small portion of sugar.  
"Every case in this confounded agency is a unique one, and I don't have nearly the experience in your position as you do Petey. So I ask again, what would _you_ do with this situation?"

"Hell I don't know..." the rabbit began, scratching the back of his neck, "I've got all the contacts and connections to take up serious agent handling, but I'm kinda boxed into my position in Cornerian Defense. You know how it is – you get planted in somewhere, the roots take hold, and all of a sudden you find out you're stuck in there pretty good."

"I know _precisely _what you mean..."  
The lion turned to face Pete with a freshly filled mug in-hand.  
"This place on occasion feels more like a prison than an intelligence agency There are times that I miss my old position as Inspector General in Wayland Yard, where everything seemed to run so much more smoothly on the considerably smaller scale of a metropolis. And just when you begin to miss the adrenaline rush of field work, dozens of other outfits start reporting to you from all across Lylat. They come with new information, some terrible new scheme or plot they uncovered, and they all expect to be pointed in the right direction as if by magic, ha! By the time you reach the top, _everybody's_ problems are your problems and there's nothing you can do anymore to fix them yourself, so you're forced to have someone else to go out there and fix the problems in your stead. Soon enough you find the lives and deaths of countless billions you'll never have the chance to meet all hang in the balance by a thread as delicate and fickle as secondhand information, all of which comes down to matter of _trust..._"  
Luther paused, downing much of his tea in one swig.  
"We have to trust that our field agents can extract reliable information, we have to trust that our analysts can interpret the information accurately, and we have to trust that whoever is sent to resolve a given issue is up to the task. And this trust can so easily be snapped at any point in the chain, just as it was in Conrad's case."

"I try not to think about it too hard."  
Pete's response was distracted, distant, with something else on his mind.

"Just as well." The lion shrugged. "You were onto something about agent handling if I recall, yes?

"Yeah, and I might have something now that I think a bit..."  
The muddy furred rabbit finally took a drink from his own mug.  
"Like I said, I could probably do alright as a Case Officer if I wasn't so dug-in as military liaison, but I think I can multitask. All I need is another set or two of eyes, ears and hands to physically carry-out what I can't."

"And what precisely do you have in mind?" Luther inquired, curious.

"There was this brother-and-sister duo I've been working with, Rick and Rachelle Cooney. They turned to black market data thievery to make ends meet when their luck went sour, and they're pretty good at it despite a lack of formal training..."  
Pete passed the mug from one hand to the other, an act of absentminded fidgeting.  
"I bet the two of them would fill this spot nicely once we run them through clandestine intelligence tradecraft."

Luther Goldwyn stepped around the dark hardwood desk, and took his spot in the chair behind it.  
"And you're certain mounting the responsibilities of agent handling on top of your already cumbersome workload is in-fact the best course of action?"

The rabbit stayed on his feet, pacing back and forth in front of Goldwyn's desk with active thoughts firing on all cylinders.  
"From my position, I could make specialized operations go a heck of a lot faster and more efficiently with more options at our disposal, and all at no more cost or effort than a regular agent cell."

"If you believe you can handle it Petey, then I won't stop you."  
The lion set his mug down and slid the tea set to one side of the desk.

Pete settled, and took the seat opposite Goldwyn before moving on.  
"So Carrion's been let go, but what are we going to do about the situation with Andross?"

Luther exhaled a long grumbling sigh, with his hand held up against his forehead.  
"It's unfortunate, but he's out of our hands now. The best thing we can do is simply let the whole thing take its own course. If his conviction is to be repealed then it'll have to happen without our interference, the legal department has their hands full enough as it is."

"You got a point there..."  
The rabbit scratched the back of his neck again, still thinking at a quick pace.  
"But that still leaves Scott Aberdeen and Beverly Finch."

"Aberdeen seems like the usual mercenary stock, I'm sure you can find a productive use for someone like him..."  
The feline Director ran a hand through his graying mahogany mane, considering all the options available to him.  
"As for Miss Finch, she was an intern who worked extensively with Dr. Harrison and may become a target herself. I'll make sure she's quietly watched, in case something should happen to her."

-

* * *

-

The lightning stopped, and the four soldiers' lifeless bodies fell dead to the jungle floor. The mutilated corpses stank of scorched flesh, still sizzling and smoking from the bizarre attack. Their faces were burnt into featureless black husks which barely clung to their skulls, and the headsets were nothing more than twisted melted shells.

Arno Harrison appeared unharmed, even cracking a satisfied smile at his deadly handiwork. But then his breathing became a labored wheezing, and his knees started to buckle beneath him. The lanky canine collapsed to the ground as he was overcome by a brutal fit of coughs, hacking up an inky black liquid onto the jungle floor.

"Dr. Harrison!"  
Beverly rushed to the fallen scientist, helping him onto his back. But when she took her hand from Harrison's arm, his fur fell out as if it wasn't even attached in the first place.

"What's happening tae him?" Scott asked as he scooped up his handgun from the ground.

"I don't know." the mustard yellow avian answered, "It's like radiation poisoning, but all at once."

"See what ye can do..."  
The terrier brought his weapon up and began a quick search, leaving Beverly Finch alone with the ailing lanky canine.

She threw her heavy pack to the ground, tore it open, and extracted a first aid kit which she put to use immediately.

"B... Beverly..." Dr. Harrison wheezed, barely managing to speak between bouts of gurgling, fluid filled coughs.

Her hands flew tirelessly from the first-aid kit to Harrison's decrepit shell of a body.  
"Hold still Arno, you'll be alright..."  
Using an autoinjector tube, Beverly Finch administered dose after dose of antibiotics, adrenal steroids, antiemetics, and anything else to slow the process, whatever it was.

Despite the mustard yellow bird's best attempts, Harrison's body was still rapidly falling apart on the cellular level. Fur continued to fall out at the slightest brush, and revealed several patches of blackened dying skin underneath.  
"It won't work, there's... no time."  
He gurgled and bubbled as he breathed, which meant his lungs were rapidly filling up with fluid. The black, ink-like liquid even began to seep out of his nose.

Beverly's heart raced, and her breath quickened as her determined hands continued desperately to hold off Harrison's ailment  
"Don't you dare talk like that, I can still save you..."  
She pulled out an oxygen mask from the kit, and started the enriched airflow as she prepared to apply it to the dying canine's face~

"_No!..._"  
Harrison knocked her hand and mask away with a clumsy swipe of his arm.  
"L... Look at me Beverly, in the eyes... just look..."  
With he trembling hand he pushed back the dark lensed glasses onto his forehead, and his other found one of Beverly's empty hands to clutch. The two of them looked the other squarely in the eyes as Harrison requested. Though his eyes were webbed with bleeding bloodshot vessels, a pair of pale blue lights still shone eerily behind each of his pupils – lights which seemed to penetrate furthet than just the surface, into the mind.  
"Y... you'll know what to do..."

The lights in his eyes flared brightly, and began to flicker on and off similar to the flashes of a strobe light. The flickering began pick up speed, switching the light from blindingly bright to total darkness quicker and quicker, until it was finally impossible to distinguish the darkness from the light...

And then it stopped.

Arno Harrison laid motionless below her, dead, and those troubling lights in his eyes were gone. Beverly flinched away when she realized what just happened, and rapidly checked her vitals for anything unusual, or out of place. She even pulled Harrison's sunglasses down to check her reflection in the lenses, but found no lights in her eyes – they looked just as plain as they always had. The only thing that seemed abnormal was a newfound headache pounding against the inside of her skull...

"How's he doing?" Scott asked as he returned from his brief absence, still fairly anxious.

Beverly rubbed a hand against her forehead, and answered in a flat, matter-of-fact tone that almost seemed out of place considering the circumstances.  
"He's dead..."  
She began to pack up the first aid kit.

"Then there's nothing more we can do."  
The terrier reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder as she slipped the kit back into the pack.  
"I'm sorry, but we really~"

The mustard yellow avian reassembled her composure from scratch and stood up suddenly, cutting Scott off.  
"We should leave, now."  
Without a second's hesitation, she hefted her pack back onto her shoulders and started on her way.

Scott watched her curiously for a moment.  
"I was just about tae suggest that..."  
He retrieved his impact claymore and scabbard, and continued back down the trail they first came in on.

And she knew what she had to do...

-

* * *

-

Author Note:

Thank you to those who gave their input on the idea of a trilogy, and to those who've reviewed this story before. I still haven't decided for sure what I'll be doing about that, but for the time I'll keep it as a single story. In the future, if I think it becomes necessary as the story progresses further along, I will see about breaking it up into workable pieces.


	28. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

_**Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy**_

James stepped once again into the executive office of Banderos, not entirely comfortable stuffed into the collared shirt and tie of business-casual style attire the fox donned. Little had changed in the expansive room in which no expense was spared. The only differences were to be found in the actions of its bovine occupier, who did not greet McCloud with the bombastic barrage of hospitality as was expected. Martino instead stood with his back turned, nearby one of the wide observation windows overlooking the Corneria City skyline.

"Ah, McCloud. I am glad you could make it..." The bull said over one shoulder, while his hands were busy with something else on a small table in front of him. "How are the wife and child? I'm told the wedding was eh... spectacular."

"That's putting it mildly..." James crossed the office to where Banderos stood as he replied. "Anyways Vixy's fine, she's starting to settle back into the studio. Kid's a handful..."  
Once close, he noticed the table held a miniature tree planted in a shallow pot next to a beaker of water with a syringe resting inside it. Martino himself was preparing a small measure of some powdered substance...  
"What is all this exactly?"

The bull poured to powder into the water and stirred until the liquid became uniformly opaque.  
"This is a fertilizer, to help the plant grow strong and healthy in this bizarre environment..."  
He began to draw the water/fertilizer mix into the syringe.

"Fair enough..." James responded, "So what did you ask me here for? I don't remember there being any disasters with the account – at least, not any _I_ know of."

The bull reacted with a low rumbling chuckle.  
"You need not worry, it's not as bad as that. I simply wanted to wait until your personal affairs were in order before bringing this up..."  
Using the syringe, Banderos proceeded to inject his fertilizer mix into the loose soil that the miniature tree was planted in.  
"It appears that one of your team's figthercraft was recently destroyed, during your last job on Papetoon. Have you decided what you are going to do about that?"

"You know, that's a _great_ question..."  
Between recovering from his injuries, sorting out the marriage and new baby, the issue of Fang had been reshuffled to the back of his mind.  
"You'll understand if I'm a little out of it here Marty. I was never all that great at economics or finances."

"Which is why you make your living doing what you do best with firearms and combat fighters, while I make my living doing what _I_ do best..."  
After the bull finished watering the miniature tree by injection, he gathered the empty beaker and syringe and stowed them in a nearby cupboard.  
"Luckily for you, economics _is_ what I do best."

"What are you getting at?" James asked, still out of the loop.

"Come, and it will make it clear to you..."  
Banderos started for his office's discreet conference table, directing James to follow.  
"I am surprised Aberdeen has not already explained this."

The fox stuck with Martino, but didn't take a seat when he came the meeting table.  
"To be fair, Scott hasn't exactly been in an explaining mood lately. I think he's still pretty sore about losing the other team."

Banderos took his place at the head of the table with a small sigh.  
"Regrettable, but understandable I suppose..."  
The bull snapped his fingers together, which activated a holographic computing interface, and began entering commands into it at a dizzying pace. Yet even as his fingers danced across the immaterial 'keyboard', his speech remained cool and casual.  
"Tell me McCloud, are you aware of who the holders of my highest valued accounts are?"

"Is it important?"

"I should say so..."  
Banderos entered another command, and another display materialized in front of James. This one simply showed a list of accounts, indicated by their name and their value.

[Space Dynamics]  
[Axiom Technologies]  
[SyntoMech]  
[Fortuna Foundries]

And the list went on to include the names of several more companies.

"So, what -other than holding accounts in my firm- do all of these corporations have in common?"

James took a careful look at the list, and found one unifying factor among them.  
"They're major engineering and technology producers. Most of them do their own research and development along with manufacturing."

"Correct..."  
Banderos entered in another command, and the display disappeared along with the computing interface.  
"The products these companies produce cannot simply be advertised and marketed the same way general consumer products are, like that cheap shirt you're wearing for instance. No, the heavy machinery and specialized technologies are almost always dealt with on a much larger and much quieter scale as contracts between producer and consumer. Now, In any marketplace the consumers will want be sure the products they buy are worth the prices they pay, and the producers want their customers to be confident in the purchasing decisions. For example, let us say you McCloud are intending to purchase a new blaster pistol, and you've decided what kind you would like, but there are several competing products of that specific type. How then do you choose the right one?"

over the course of Martino's spiel, James had assumed a passive attentive stance with his head propped up in his hand, and remained there as he came up with an answer.  
"I'd look for customer reviews, and choose the the most recommended in my price range."

A smile drew itself across Banderos' face accompanied by a barely audible chuckle.  
"Easier said than done for the costly products of my account holders..."  
He stood up from the conference table, and started toward the wide executive desk in the center of the room.  
"Take any given combat fightercraft of reasonable quality: a prospective buyer of such an item, typically a government military or other large-scale operation, will want to make sure this fighter can do its job and is worth the steep costs of buying and operating. The buyer cannot always trust the producer's claims, as they are trying to _sell_ their product, and the buyer certainly does not want to hand over a gigantic sum of credits for something that doesn't work. When lives are at stake, the cost of such a mistake could become much greater than credits can count..."  
From a large drawer in the desk, the bull extracted his small cigar humidor and placed it on the desktop.  
"So, an independent demonstration of this example fightercraft must be conducted. Of course there are expos and air-shows held all across Lylat for this very purpose, but the most conclusive demonstrations are the ones conducted in the field under actual operational conditions."

"I see where this is going..."  
James kept close, and at the bovine executive's side at the time.  
"These manufacturers provide mercenary units, like my team, with combat fighters they're trying to sell, and their successful use proves the products are effective."

"You have a quick wit McCloud, care for a cigarro?"  
Banderos opened the humidor and offered the fox his selection of cigars from it.

"Thanks, but I'd prefer not." James declined.

"As I was saying, these producers have put their very best efforts into creating a quality product, and if they believe that product is truly worth the steep prices they demand they will be more than happy to let someone prove it for them..."  
Martino picked one of the cigars for himself, and prepared it for smoking as he continued.  
"In this arrangement, when a prospective client asks 'Why should I buy these fighters for my military?', the producer can answer 'Just look at Star Fox, they use our product to great effect. Surely you can see these fighters are more than adequate for your needs.'"

The fox folded his arms across his chest  
"So my team's a corporate-sponsored poster-boy, great."

"Eh... yes and no..."  
Banderos turned back from his desk. In one hand was the dark brown cylinder of a cigar, held with a similar finesse as a wine taster would his glass. In the other hand was a lighter of larger proportions, which the bull activated and used its thin blue flame to light the end of the cigar.  
"You see McCloud, you and your team have no obligations or binding ties to these producers. You do not purchase fighters with your own funds, but neither are you paid additional compensation for these services. That is the only way a prospective buyer can be certain your performances are honest and completely unbiased."

"Then how does my deal with Space Dynamics play into all this?" James asked, "They've hired me as a part-time test pilot."

"No, that is different..."  
Martino smoked his cigar with care, and savored each breath before. The flavored aroma began to seep though the office's air, but it didn't carry the unpleasant pangs normally expected of tobacco smoke.  
"The development team behind any vehicle, vessel or aerospace-craft will run through several prototypes, each testing a number of different aspects until they have a final product. They just need someone in the cockpit who knows what they're doing and won't destroy their precious work out of incompetence. As long as you are compensated fairly for your services as test pilot, it should not effect relations with other companies."

The fox absentmindedly let his hand scratch behind his head, just as he began to grow impatient.  
"Okay Marty this is fascinating and all, but I'm still going to need a set of wings to fly. And combat fightercraft don't exactly grow on trees last time I checked."

"Not from trees that grow out of the ground that is..."  
Banderos snapped his fingers together which activated his holographic interface over the desktop, and entered a quick series of commands that brought up a larger display. It depicted fightercraft similar to Corneria's widely used 'Comet', but with cleaner lines and what appeared to be a number of improved systems...  
"Axiom has recently developed an upgrade of their Comet series superiority fighter, yet Cornerian Defense has so far been reluctant to phase in this new and more costly variant without seeing it in action. What do you think? Is this of interest to you?"

"I _have_ flown the Comet before, and I'd hate to see Corneria pass that up if it's any good..."  
James looked over the the technical specifications on the display, and it certainly looked like Axiom's thinking. Compared to it's predecessor, the new 'Comet' was supposed to have a greater efficiency power source, greater firepower and greater engine power among other systems, all built on the same basic sturdy frame of the classic.  
"Is there some sort of procedure, or paperwork, or something?"

"No, I will simply make arrangements with Axiom to have one delivered for you."  
Banderos entered a command on the holographic interface, and the display disappeared again.

"So that's it?"

"Not unless you _prefer_ the process to be needlessly frivolous on your part."

"How do I know I can trust you?" James asked, piercing the bull with a skeptic's stare, "Here you are playing Lylat's whole economy like a fiddle, while my team and I dangle at the end of a chain with you at the top. What's to stop you from exploiting your position and using my team for your own purposes against my choice?"

Banderos returned the fox's steely glare with an intrigued smile and rumbling chuckle.  
"In a different life perhaps, you could have made a shrewd businessman..."  
He puffed a wisp of cigar smoke from his nostrils before going on.  
"Trust is a two-way street McCloud, it simply cannot work unless it goes both ways. So far I have trusted you to make good use of the resources left behind by your Star Terrier predecessors, and you've since proven that my trust wasn't wasted. Now it is your turn, you must trust that I will act in the best mutual interests of our business relationship. From another prospective, the end of your chain may be a stable anchor that keeps the top from drifting away."

"Fair enough..." James replied with a quick nod, "I just never thought I'd have to deal with the system-wide aerospace market. They don't teach you how to handle these things in the military you know."

"True, this is all a far cry from the military routine, but I am confident you can adapt well enough to this bizarre environment. You need only do what you do best, and I shall endeavor to do likewise in kind..."  
Banderos stood up from his desk, and guided his guest to the office's main door.  
"I am glad you and I had this conversation. Vemos pronto McCloud, and good luck."

* * *

_Men do not realize how great a revenue economy is._

_They condemn what they do not understand._

-Marcus Tullius Cicero-

* * *

There's something nostalgic about a story printed in a book. There aren't any batteries or other power sources, no programing, no glitches – nothing but paper, ink, and the perfect cover from which Richard Cooney could people-watch in perfect discretion...

Seated comfortably in an armchair, the raccoon peered over the top the open book to the main atrium of a public library. Among a few other things, a library can be a point of access to some of the most complete stores of data, documents, publications and literature available, and such a place can attract all imaginable types of people. Of those Rick could see immediately near him, were a few high-strung scholarly types, a child of about ten browsing through the comics, a tramp who just wanted a warm place to sit, some students trying to find a calm spot to concentrate, and a few others. The raccoon agent particularly liked the public libraries as they were fairly inconspicuous locations; places where he could wait and watch for hours on end without having to gin-up some elaborate excuse on the spot. No one was out of place in a public library, because it's the only place where everyone is out of place...

"Anything interesting going on?" Rick asked over his shoulder.

Rachelle Cooney sat at a desk with her hands casually entering commands into a compact notebook style computer.  
"The reference librarian over there is up 500 credits in a poker game over the library's network, but she's about to lose it all."

"That so?"  
Rick glanced toward the reference desk, where a smoky gray rodentia woman of slight build glared into a monitor.

"She went all in betting on a hand of four queens, but the supervising custodian has a straight flush in the works."

"Huh, I guess no one can win them all."  
Rick went back to 'reading' the book in his hands.

"You know, with all this local network traffic, I'd be a little worried about a sudden spike overloading the whole system..."  
Rachelle entered a command into her notebook computer.

Rick noticed a grumbling murmur that began to rise all through the room as many users started fumbling with their uncooperative equipment. Out of this new layer of background din, one jumped out.

"Dang it!"  
It was the reference librarian, in her irritated squeal of a voice, and attracting a few puzzled looks.

"She'll thank me later."  
Rachelle closed her notebook computer, with the slightest hint of pride coming through.

"There _were_ more subtle ways you could've done that sis."

"Suspicious ways." Rachelle replied with a shrug, "People don't usually ask questions when it all hits the fan."

Rick shrugged, and went back to people-watching across the library floor. Almost instantly, he spotted a familiar stark white wolf in ragged, but not particularly dirty street clothes. He was headed roughly in Rick's direction, but not by intention. His eyes scanned up and down the isles as he walked – searching, but not finding.

When he was close enough, Rick finally stood up from the armchair and confronted the wolf whom he'd renamed 'Mack'.  
"You look lost, can I help you?"

Mack flinched a little, but quickly regained control.  
"How the hell does anyone find anything in this dump?" he began, "I've been wandering around over an _hour_ trying to find you."

"It _is_ a pretty big library, and a real easy place to get lost in."  
The raccoon gave a agreeing nod as he glazed across the main floor again.

"Then why exactly are we meeting here to pass my instructions along? A street corner would've been way simpler."

"We meet here because I say so, and I say so because you're a hell of a lot less likely to blow your cover in a public library than in some back alley out there."  
Rick started toward a nearby bookshelf packed with hundreds of fiction novels.

"My cover?" The wolf asked as he followed, "What does any of this have to do with my cover?"

Rick browse books, going down the line alphabetically by author name – Devin, Dewar, Dickerson...  
"Your character likes to read, so you came into the library to check out a book. That's hardly unusual, even for a member of an urban gang in Wayland Macbeth notorious for trafficking drugs and arms. No one ever said thugs can't have hobbies too."

"And go through all this bullshit play-acting?..."  
Mack stepped between Cooney and the bookshelf, stopping the raccoon from browsing.  
"Come on Rick, the contact you asked for is all set and ready to go, I just need to know what my next move is with this guy."

Rick stared blankly past the wolf's impatient glare, concealing his thoughts. After a few seconds he glanced back over his shoulder to Rachelle who responded to her brother's silent query with a simple nod and thumb-up gesture.

Rick turned back, and voice became far quieter and graver than before.  
"You _do_ know what these street gangs do to traitors, right?"

The wolf rolled his eyes with a sigh.  
"I've taken down tougher nuts before, and I can handle any of these chumps if they try anything."

"You and what army?" the raccoon asked with a laugh and shaking head, "You're almost _always_ going to be outnumbered and out-gunned a hundred to one against enemies who aren't the least bit squeamish about making you suffer in the worst imaginable ways. And if you pull some stupid stunt out there that gets you nabbed, you're on your own – no one is going to pull your ass out of the fire, not even me. If you were being followed by a shadow from that gang right now, and he saw me give you direct instructions, I can guarantee your mutilated corpse would be rotting in the sewers before midnight..."  
He moved to Mack's side, and continued down the row until he picked one specific book off the shelf.  
"Stick to the game-plan, do exactly as the coaches instruct, and you'll come out on top of things."

"What game-plan?" The pale wolf demanded, "You haven't told me _anything_ yet!"

"Really? Maybe you should start listening a little more carefully, and read between the lines..."  
He offered Mack the book he took from the shelf: 'Spirit Apocalypse' by Stefan Duke.  
"I think you'll like this one. It's an intriguing read for Gothic-style fiction, but definitely not for everyone. You'll see what I mean when you read chapter six."

The wolf stared at the worn paperback novel for a few moments, at Rick's casual face, and back at the book again...  
"Chapter six huh?"  
He took the book and started thumbing through a few of the pages.  
"I'll be sure to look out for it, thanks."

A small acknowledging smirk crossed the raccoon's face.  
"I'm glad I could help."

Without another word, Mack turned and walked away between the rows of books.

Busy in her notebook computer again, Rachelle  
"So when are you going to tell him that his instructions were encoded in cyphertext gibberish?"

Rick just shrugged as he came near his sister again.  
"He's got the decryption key he needs, he'll figure out what to do with it eventually."

"Even so, he's not being tailed by anyone. You could've been straight with him without any risk to his cover at all."

"And under most other circumstances I'd agree, but he needs this..."  
Rick settled back into the armchair and found the book he was 'reading' before.  
"He's got the skills and talent for sure, but he has to learn to point them in the right direction and use them correctly. You saw how he was when we found him, the last thing we need is from him to run off and land himself in more trouble than he can handle."

"Like the way you did?"

"Don't pretend that was _all_ my fault Rache, you were in on it just as much as I was."

"I'm not saying it's a bad move to make considering what's been happening..."  
She peered over the top of the screen, only to find Rick's attention buried into silent people-watching.  
"Fine, forget I said anything."

The two of them remained in the inconspicuous silence of their activities, and faded quietly into the background.

* * *

"_Fox McCloud..._" Peppy mused to himself, "I dunno, it's an okay name I guess..."

He was in the living room of his modest home. There were sounds of others in the house, elsewhere and out of sight. Peppy himself was seated in the center of a couch, with a baby carrier placed securely on the coffee table in front of him. The vulpine infant laying in the padded carrier could only return Peppy's thoughtful gaze with a puzzled blank stare, and some drooling.

The dusty gray hare leaned closer to Fox, speaking in a playfully hushed voice.  
"Just between you and me kid, your dad's always been downright _dull_ when it comes to naming things. You know, he could've given this team of his any name he wanted and guess what he comes up with out of the blue: _'Star Fox'. _How much more bland could you possibly get? Not that 'Fox' is a bad name or anything~"  
Peppy was interrupted when his whiskers got caught in the grip of Fox's tiny fist, and he yanked.

"Ahg! Flippin' _Fortuna!..._"  
After a moment of struggle, the hare managed to break free of the baby's grasp – much to Fox's giggling delight at Peppy's distress.  
"Where the heck did you get a grip like that?"

"Play nice Daddy!" a voice erupted.

The voice belonged to a little hare girl standing next to Peppy. She was around age three with a pale rosy gray fur tone, and some other clear resemblances to her father.

"But _he_ started it." Peppy retorted, gesturing toward baby Fox.

The daughter responded by crossing her arms and glaring up at her father with the grumpy scowl children wear so well...

The door-chime sounded.

"I'll get it!..."  
The little girl scampered to the front door, and tried very hard to reach up to the wall-mounted control panel to open it. No matter her efforts though, she was still a few inches shy of achieving her goal.

Just as she was starting to grumble with frustration, Peppy decided to intervene. The dusty gray hare came behind his daughter, and lifted the toddler up under her arms so she could reach. The door opened and James McCloud was on the other side, still stuffed into the collared shirt and tie of business-casual he met with Banderos in.

"Well that was quick..." Peppy , "I thought you were gonna be gone a while longer."  
He set the little girl down, and she scampered off somewhere else in the house.

"So did I..." James replied as he stepped into the Hare's house, "It turns out the corporate system we're a part of now is a lot more efficient than I thought."  
McCloud's tone hinted at some pang of regret.

"And that's a bad thing?" the hare asked.

"It can be..." the fox began, "I mean, how much control do we _really _have? Are we operating as independently as we think we are, or just at the mercy of sponsors and whoever hires us?"

Before Peppy could reply, another person entered the living room – a hare woman around Peppy's age.  
"James, nice to have you back again." She greeted warmly, "Can I get you anything while you're here?"

"No it's alright Vivian, I wasn't planning on staying long..."  
McCloud crossed the room to where the baby carrier rested.  
"Just came by to pick up Fox."  
He bent down and fastened the carrier's restraints around the child, he was fast asleep.

"He may be a handful..." Vivian Hare added, "but I know he's a good kid."

"Ain't it a little early for that kind of talk?" Peppy asked his wife.

"Maybe..." she shrugged, "Call it a mom's intuition."  
She left the two dormant mercenaries to themselves.

Effectively alone, Peppy dropped he timbre of his speech to one of concern.  
"You're not having second thoughts about this whole Star Fox gig are you Jimmy?"

"And you haven't?" James replied as he finished packing the baby's day-bag.

"Of course I've been thinking, and I've even had some third thoughts if you'll hear'em."

He handed the day bag over to Peppy, and took up Fox in the baby carrier for himself  
"Sure Peppy, I'll bite. What's on your mind?"

With Fox's day bag slung over a shoulder, the hare began his long-winded speech on his 'third thoughts.'  
"When I left for my last tour of duty aboard the McGarret, Lucy was crawling on all fours and babbling in baby-speak. When I got back, she was walking, talking, and bigger than I've ever seen her before – it's like I was watching her grow up in little snapshots at a time. I never got to hear her first words, or help her on her first steps, or spend much of any quality time with her. These kids grow up way too fast to not be there for it, and I'm not about to let Vivian carry the burden all by her lonesome. Sure this mercenary gig is tough work, but at least now I can be home more often, for longer, and still make worlds of difference out there across Lylat..."

The two of them continued out of the Hare's house to a neighborhood of older, but otherwise fine homes. James' blue and silver-gray muscle sat settled down at the side of the street. Peppy continued on as they approached it.

"As independent contractors, we're working with law enforcement, businesses, and the occasional odd jobs we'd never have the chance to do if we're pinned to a military. Just look at _you_ Jimmy – you're in on SD's next-gen fighter project, the one they've been keeping that thing under airtight wraps from everyone. Don't tell me you're not at least a _little _excited about that..."

It wasn't clear whether James was paying attention or not. He was in the process of securing Fox into the back seat of of the muscle car, with Peppy standing just outside and still carrying on.

"Also, we've got at least one option that we don't ever get the military: we can say 'no' without destroying our careers. If you didn't like your orders as a part of the military machine, tough luck – you followed orders anyway. But with this Star Fox thing, we've been given enough free reign to refuse contracts we don't want to take. Who knows? Turning down one contract just might open the door to a an even better job, try _that_ in a military setting..."

McCloud tightened one last seat-belt around his son's car seat, and extracted himself from the car. Here Peppy stopped him one last time as he handed James the baby's day-bag.

"If you still got doubts Jimmy, then take a good look at Fox here and tell me if he ain't worth doing things a little differently for..."  
He gestured to the little baby, who stirred a little in his peaceful sleep.

"I'll keep all that in mind, especially the part about how kids grow up fast..."  
James took the bag and dropped it in the empty passenger seat before taking the driver's position for himself.  
"Thanks again for looking after Fox."

"Anytime."

With a turn of its ignition key, Jame's muscle car strummed to life and lifted off the ground a few feet. In a few seconds, the vehicle slipped away down the neighborhood's loose suburban street and onward toward its next destination.


	29. Thieves and Beggars

Author Note:

It's been far too long, and I have no excuses. I wouldn't want anyone to read anything I wouldn't enjoy reading myself, and this chapter was definitely one of the biggest challenges for me to write. I hope you can forgive me for being as thorough as I have been. Your feedback is most welcome.

* * *

_**Thieves and Beggars**_

The officer on the other end of the A/V comm monitor, clad in the slate gray uniform of Interplanetary Patrol, was a slender needle-nosed canine woman with long silky chocolate-brown fur. She carried herself with a cool air of authority, tempered by an underlying core of experience.  
_"Okay McCloud, let's go over the game-plan one last time." _

The Vulpine pilot sat in the cockpit of the Comet Mk II graciously provided by Axiom Technologies. For James it was like an old friend cleaned up. Its controls and instrument configurations were quite familiar, but they also more refined, and boasted a suite of more refined hardware on the other side to compliment it. For everything the original Comet did well, the Mk II did one better, and for every weakness, an effort to mitigate it. The vulpine pilot was glad to have this comrade back under his command, especially since it didn't require rigorous taming to be fully utilized like Fang did...

Pigma was the first to respond over the comm channel.  
_"Look lady, we know what we're supposed to do here, so give us a second to focus why don't you?"_

Other than comm chatter and the quiet song of instruments, the fighter was silent as it lay dormant in standby mode. Outside the canopy was a bizarre sight for inside a cockpit – the interior of a large cargo hold, dimply lit by a smattering of lighting fixtures that revealed only shapeless shadows.

James answered the officer, reciting the 'game-plan' as easily as breathing.  
"Some pirates know this freighter is coming and they know the cargo is supposed to be a covert arms shipment. They're planning to yank us from our route as we pass by Solar and attempt to take the ship. Star Fox springs the trap, we shoot to disable, and InterPatrol brings the pirates into custody for further questioning."

"_That's right..." _Doyle responded. _"Remember these aren't some random highwaymen, the Macbeth-Corneria hubshot route isn't highly used and so not highly pirated either. These guys are hardened pros who've been planning this motherload heist ever since we slipped them the bait. They're ruthless, cunning, and very efficient."_

"_Which is why you called us." _Peppy chimed in.

"_Which is exactly why I called you..."  
_The entire ship began to shake around them as it decelerated from its hyperspace trajectory, cutting the officer off for a second. After everything came to a relative calm again, she continued over the comm.  
_"Looks like they've nabbed us, you guys all ready down there?"_

Scott was the first to respond._  
"Took 'em bloody long enough, I was starting tae think they might've forgotten."_

"Powering up..."  
After James entered a command sequence into his controls, the fighter's reactor thrummed to life and the cockpit's instruments lit up.

"_Opening the doors now."_

The cargo hold was instantly flooded with a deep crimson light as the main hatches split open into space. Far below was the endless fiery surface of Solar, smoldering in its angry red clear to the distant horizon. Above was a canopy of black nothing – the stars having been fudged out by Solar's glowing surface...

James thrust the throttle forward, and the Comet Mk II replied with a confident forward surge out over the infinite blood-red hellfire below. The environmental readouts showed plenty of heat and higher gravity, but thankfully sparse of high-energy radiation. At this close distance, a more robust star would've incinerated most anything under a relentless barrage of electromagnetic radiation and escaping plasma. A star, for all intents and purposes, is an ongoing fusion bomb detonation contained only by its gravity...

"_Look sharp! We've got some company!" _Scott barked over the channel,_"An' it looks like they're packin' more than a wee wallop."_

Sure enough, a group of about a half-dozen assault fightercraft were closing in fast. As expected, most were sluggish heavy-weapons platforms meant to take down larger prey. Though it put the comparatively more agile compliment of Star Fox at an advantage, getting caught in the crosshairs of that kind of firepower spelled a quick death, no matter how durable the shields or hull was...

"Let's go to work!"  
The vulpine pilot twisted his fighter around under his guiding hand toward his adversaries, and his three comrades followed...

* * *

Alarm sirens screamed through the ship's corridors. The intricate ornamentation meant it wasn't a military or freight vessel – it was a passenger-bearing ship...

"_Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. There has been a malfunction in the oxygen supply. Please remain calm and return to your cabins. If you aren't near your cabin, a member of the crew will direct you to a designated safety area. There's no need to worry, our backup systems are operating normally and we'll have the problem fixed as soon as we can. Thank you for your patience and understanding."_

Security officer Jared Karrde -a smooth-skinned salamander- jogged though the ship's normally charming corridor, past a number of anxious-looking passengers who just heard the captain's announcement. Any shipboard malfunction is bound to cause panic among the passengers, and the presence of authority was needed during such times. But since this was a failure of the ship's oxygen supply, emergency protocol and common sense dictated that essential personnel must don respirators before returning to duty...

Karrde arrived at the ship's armory checkpoint: a secure door with a desk just outside, and another officer behind the desk waiting for him. This officer was a larger feline species, but his face was covered by a respirator mask.

"You finally made it!" the other officer exclaimed, "Better get in there Jared, everyone else is already gearing up."

"Sorry," the salamander responded, entering an access code into the wall panel, "I had to break-up fight over an oxygen mask on my way here."

"Figures."  
The masked feline puffed out a sigh through his respirator.  
"The passengers are bound to get real antsy real quick, especially this close to Solar."

"No kidding..."  
The code Karrde entered was verified, and the door slid open for him before he ducked inside, leaving his fellow officer to himself.

The corridor outside the checkpoint was quiet. Of course there were alarms screaming all through the ship and the distant scramble of movement, but this was a different breed of quiet altogether. Up and down the entire length of the passageway, there wasn't a single panicky passenger to be seen or heard within earshot...

"Hey, got a second?"  
It was one of the passengers, another feline of similar build to the security officer on watch.

"Of course."  
The masked officer let out a relieved sigh, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

The feline passenger came up to the checkpoint desk. There wasn't anything immediately remarkable about his appearance. He had a short shock of a lion's mane, but with dull tiger striping on the sandy background – a likely hybrid breed by his looks.  
"I heard the captain say we should go to a safety zone, but I don't know where they are. Can you help me out?"  
Though a little nervous, the passenger appeared to handle himself fairly well considering the frantic atmosphere.

"Certainly..."  
The officer gave a nod an leaned over the desk to point the way.  
"You just head down this corridor here and~"

The feline passenger yanked the other closer by his arm and slashed through the masked figure's throat in a single motion. The killer let his gurgling victim slump forward, revealing the blood-smeared steak knife in the hybrid feline's grip.  
"Thanks officer, I really appreciate it..."

Jared Karrde stepped into the armory security officer's locker room. The place was busy, packed with what looked like most of the ship's security compliment as they burst open their designated lockers to retrieve necessary equipment – respirator masks in this case. The smooth-skinned salamander came to his own locker and immediately entered his passcode, then stopped...

Something didn't feel right – an extra weight in one of the pockets. Karrde felt around and did indeed find an object in the thigh cargo pocket of his pants. He unzipped the pocket, removed the object, and saw that it was a small explosive charge.

"Holy~"

_*BOOM!*_

The blast was loud, bright and over very fast. Everyone in the room dropped dead in almost an instant, yet with very little bloody carnage or damage to the room itself. The explosive blast in an enclosed space killed the shipboard security officers quickly and cleanly with sheer pressure shock...

The door opened, and the hybrid feline burst into the locker room armed with the handgun from the officer he slew only moments earlier. Meeting no resistance, he made a beckoning gesture into the corridor behind him. A large group of otherwise innocent looking passengers flowed into the room and precoded to ransack the armory...

"_This is the captain, it appears that we have hijackers aboard the ship..."  
_The voice sounded nervous, but with a vestige of calm control stretched out over it._  
"For the time being I urge you to please remain in your cabins or designated safety zones. If you encounter any of the assailants, do not attempt to resist any demands they make or do anything that may provoke them. There is reason to believe that these particular hijackers are armed and extremely dangerous, and so should be treated as such. I understand this is a difficult situation, but I assure you the crew and I are doing everything in our power to keep all of you~"_

The captain's voice on the loudspeaker cut out.

"Shit, it just gets worse and worse..."  
He was a golden-haired baboon with a long dark face, dressed in the clean-cut uniform of a crewman.  
"First we lose oxygen circulation, then security gets neutered, and now we don't even have communications."

The nervous ape sat in front a computing terminal in a control room. Outside a large observation window was the deck of a shipboard hangar, with only a single shuttlecraft docked.

Another crewman, a coyote, stood over the ape's shoulder.  
"What about loose traffic? Any signal on the headsets?"

The baboon raised a wireless headset to his ear, only to hear static come through the speakers.  
"It's all noised-out, and the personals aren't getting any signal out here either..."

An uneasy quiet fell between the two crewmen. The ape sat leaning forward with his hand scratching his head, while the coyote stood to the side, gazing intently over the hangar deck until he finally broke the silence.  
"Maybe we should get out of here, we can take the shuttle."

The baboon stood up from the terminal to face his fellow crewman.  
"And leave everyone else behind? Are you insane?"

"What can we do, Kruger?" the coyote asked, "There's got to be hundreds of passengers aboard, the escape pods aren't going to do any good this close to Solar, the shuttle just can't carry enough and if security's toast then we're _all_ going to be toast too before long..."  
He turned around, revealing the determined face of a mind made up.  
"But if we make a break for it, we might be able to find help."

Kruger glanced back and forth, between the shuttle on the hangar deck and they coyote in front of him.  
"I don't know Jack, what if~"

_*Bang! Bang!*_

Someone knocked at the door, and shouted in with a muffled voice.  
"Open up in there! I got things to do and making me wait really isn't a good idea!"

Jack grabbed the baboon by his arm and pulled him back to the control room's main terminal.  
"The hijackers need this space and the only thing in here is the shuttle, which they're probably going to use as a getaway. Take the shuttle away and~"

"You'll piss them all off!" Kruger cut him off.

"And _you _will play right into their plans!" the canine crewman shot back, "If we throw these thugs for a loop, we'll be in a much better position to get everyone out of this jam alive."

The gold-haired baboon eyed Jack with a suspicious glare.  
"How do I know you don't just want to scram and save your own skin?"

"Okay then, we'll do this the hard way..." the voice from before called back through the door, sounding somewhat agitated, "If this door isn't open in the next thirty seconds, there's a lovely little hostage right here who's gonna die because of it. You don't want that, do you?"

"Do what he says, _please!_"  
It was a young woman's voice, terrified.

"Dammit..." Kruger cursed, "God-fucking _dammit_."

"I invited my girlfriend Rihana aboard for this trip, she's in cabin 090. Ask her if you can't trust what I'm trying to do..."  
Jack turned away, out the observation window overlooking the hangar deck again.  
"I don't know about you Kruger, but I am _not_ just going to sit here and take it up the ass from these bastards. I am getting off this ship, and I am going to get help – for her and for everyone else."

"I'm not leaving." The primate crewman replied coldly.

"What?"  
The coyote whipped around, and found Kruger typing furiously into the terminal.

"You've got fifteen seconds!" the voice outside reminded them.

"The shuttle's cleared for launch, I'll stay here and see if I can buy you some time..."  
The baboon entered one last command into the terminal, and the hangar doors began to open, revealing the glowing red Solar far below.  
"Move it Jack!"

Without wasting another moment, the canine crewman bolted out of the control room and onto the hanger deck. Meanwhile, the agitated voice behind the outer door grew more agitated as it counted down...  
"Ten, nine, eight, seven~"

"Alright! I'm opening it up..."  
Kruger stood up from the terminal and headed for the door to the rest of the ship's interior.  
"It'll just take a few seconds to disengage the lock."  
He waited until Jack was inside the shuttle and out of sight before finally opening the door.

On the other side was a group of passengers, but all armed and all wearing respirator masks looted from the security armory.

"That's more like it." the group's hybrid feline leader said in mock-relief as he released the terrified hostage, who slunk away from the hijackers. Once she was gone, the masked hybrid feline brought his blaster to bear on Kruger and made his demands.  
"Now, you're going to be a real help and give me access codes, keys, authorization and anything else I need to make that shuttle over there fly."

"Sure, just give me a second..."  
The gold-haired baboon crossed slowly to the control room's main terminal – feeling the pressure of the blaster's muzzle hovering mere inches away from his skull...

On the hangar deck outside, the shuttle rumbled and lifted off in its startup sequence.

The lead hijacker gripped Kruger by his shoulder and shoved him into the terminal, pressing the blaster against his head.  
"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"I swear it wasn't me~"

"Call it back!"

"I don't have control! There's nothing I can~"

_*Blam!* _

A blaster shot ripped through Kruger's head, never giving the ape a chance to finish his plea. The masked hybrid feline tossed the crewman's lifeless body aside and bolted onto the hangar deck, where the shuttle was turning to exit. In a rage, the lead hijacker took aim and opened fire on the escaping spacecraft, letting loose a blazing torrent from his blaster handgun until the charge ran dry.

The shuttlecraft was gone, skimming over Solar's boiling red surface away from the imperiled passenger ship. Accepting these new circumstances, the hybrid feline let his rage simmer down to a bitter discontent.  
"Heroes, you just _have_ to go and make these simple things complicated don't you?"

One of the other hijackers came up slowly from behind.  
"Well Hack, what do we do now?"  
He was a jay with blue and white patterned plumage, and looked like any other passenger save for the fact that he too was armed.

"First things first Jay," Hack grumbled in response as he swapped out a fresh magazine cartridge, "we need to secure the bridge, fast."

* * *

Pigma Dengar flew Gizmo in close pursuit of one of the attackers' large assault fighters. The thing was an absolute monster – dwarfing even Scott's Nessie heavy fightercraft. This one in particular was armed with a suite of frighteningly heavy weapons, high-output thrusters, and a rear-mounted turret that sprayed the swine's flight path with blaster-fire. Despite it's sluggish handling, the assault fighter didn't seem to mind easily absorbing what few shots Pigma managed to throw its way...

"_Gotta be careful – these jugs are built to take down cruisers, which means they'll rip through our wings like toilet-paper..."  
_That was Peppy over the comm, and flying circles through the fray. His interceptor wasn't going to do any appreciable damage against the pirates' assault fighters, so the hare instead took to swatting at missiles before they reached their intended targets.  
_"So whatever you do, don't get caught in their main weapons' line of fire."_

"Well no shit Pep!" Pigma shouted back as he weaved Gizmo in and around the oncoming blaster fire, "But what about these bigger nastier ones with the tail-gun? I can't swap spit-wads with this flying tank all day you know."

"_I see it lad." _Scott responded,_"Ye just stay on her fer now, I bet I know what stunt she's aboot tae pull on ye."  
_Of all the Star Fox pilots, Aberdeen would've had the most experience with heaver powerhouse type spacecraft.

The assault craft Pigma was pursuing suddenly fired its thrusters hard, surging the juggernaut forward on its monstrous engines. The shock from the thruster-wash nearly blasted pursuing Gizmo aside, but Pigma was able to keep control and keep pace. With the assault fighter on a straight path, the swine took the opportunity to lay down a steady stream of fire – a break at last...

Without any warning, the assault fighter threw its mammoth thrusters into reverse, practically stopping the behemoth on the spot. The sudden move caught Pigma by surprise, making him completely overshot his target and land squarely in the line of fire.

"_Drop doon!" _Scott shouted as he swept Nessie's bulky frame straight at the swine.

Not wasting an instant, Pigma disengaged Gizmo's G-diffuser. The fighter plummeted away when Solar's powerful gravity took hold and pulled Pigma to a moment of safety. The assault craft hesitated, which gave Scott all the time in the world to fire a surgical strike. The target's right side thruster nacelle broke clean off – the heavy assault fighter wasn't destroyed, but out of the fight.

"Hold on guys, I'm getting some funny readings here..."  
James McCloud was tailing another one of the assault fighters, easily weaving through the as he responded with a steady stream of laser-fire.  
"They're charging for a jump, but these pirates seemed like they still had some fight in them – something's not right about this."

Against the fox's relentless torrent, the heavy fighter took the battle tactic of dumping more power into its shields rather than simply take it. Coupled with increased G-diffuser output and charging the jump-drive capacitor, the heavy fighters' systems couldn't handle it anymore and overloaded. The shields failed, the G-diffuser gave out, the jump-drive was crippled – yet fired anyway...

The power stored up in the damaged jump-drive's capacitor sent the spacecraft flying in a hundred different directions instead of just one. The result was a catastrophic explosion that blew the heavy assault fighter into thousands of shrapnel fragments...

All the other pirates all made successful Jumps, and James McCloud was more then eager to pursue them.  
"Track their vectors Peppy, we're going after them!"

"_Stand down, Star Fox..." _the InterPatrol officer commanded.

"Your targets are all getting away, and you want us to just _give up_?"

"_I said Stand down!"  
_Once she was sure James wouldn't snap back, the canine officer continued._  
"We picked up a signal while you were duking in out, and I'm afraid the circumstances may have just changed for the worse..."_

Another signal was channeled into the mix for the Star Fox mercenaries to hear.  
_"...static... Dammit! Can any ...static... hear me? The Lady Vain's been hijacked, she's a passenger cruiser with hundreds of people ...static... anyone out there?"_

The officer wasted no more time than was absolutely necessary._  
"This is Captain Catherine Doyle of InterPatrol responding to your general distress signal. Tell me everything."_

"_Jack Lateran, shuttle pilot f ...static... space-line cruiser Lady Vain ...static... she's been hijacked."  
_The coyote's frightened face between the static._  
"Our shipboard secur ...static... pliment is all dead and I think the passengers are be ...static... hostage. I only just escaped, you ...static... to do something..."_

"_We're getting a lot of interference from Solar Jack. Rendezvous for our location as quickly as you can and we'll continue this, I'm transmitting coordinates now..."_

"_Understood ma'am, I'll be there shortly."_

"I don't like it." James responded in the sharp tone of a skeptic, "This cleverly timed coincidence has 'trap' written all over it, I'm not going to jump in on this blind."

"_I appreciate your concern McCloud, but as far as we can tell his story holds up. The ship he's talking about was scheduled to pass by Solar, and she hasn't responded to any of our hails..."  
_Captain Doyle spoke with the grim certainty of one who knows the worst possible truth._  
"There's far more at stake now than just a few wayward pirates, we have to respond."_

Another signal burst into the channel – from the crippled pirate assault craft drifting nearby. The speaker was a squat-faced hyena with a black smeared muzzle, and a less than sincere smile on his face._  
"Sorry to interrupt all this, but I couldn't help overhearing the little conundrum that just exploded in all your faces~"_

"_Stuff it ye thieving wretch!" _Scott growled, _"You're lucky tae be so much as breathin' given the circumstances."_

"_That's not very polite of you, especially toward someone who might be able to help with this little hostage situation..."_

"_What exactly do you know that could be of use?"  
_The commanding InterPatrol officer wasted neither her words nor her time.

"_Hijacking the Lady Vain and raiding this transport was supposed to work together – in tandem..."  
_The hyena answered hurriedly, seizing his chance.  
_"I'll tell you everything you need to know: coordinates, bearings, personnel, hell I'll even get you in on our modulating comm frequency. But I want full InterPatrol protective custody for being your insider snitch. I don't want these guys gunning for me when it's all over."_

"Why should we trust you?" James asked, far from convinced, "You just tried to kill us."

"_Heh, funny that..."  
_The pirate forced a laugh, betraying his quiet desperation._  
"Okay, so maybe I'm just a shifty sleazy opportunist, but right now the opportunity to avoid death by incineration is awfully appealing. What more do you goddamn tightwads need?"_

"_That's enough McCloud, I'll take him from here..."  
_As Captain Doyle spoke, the InterPatrol 'bait freighter' maneuvered its cumbersome hulk to where the pirate drifted helplessly through space over Solar's surface..._  
"I'm going to bring you aboard my ship, and you will assist my people with all necessary information regarding the situation at hand. Screw this up, and my report will say you were killed resisting arrest. Do I make myself clear?"_

"_Sure do ma'am."_

* * *

The Lady Vain's bridge had a fairly typical civilian layout, but with more lavish and ornately decorated systems. In place of a standard bridge crew however was a motley collection of casually clad hijackers. Among them were the hybrid feline called Hack, and Jay. The main forward veiwport showed the spectacle of Solar's glowing red surface below, the starless black sky above, and the points of several spacecraft closing fast from the distance.

"_Shit, it's those mercs again!"  
_The channel was audio only, from one of the assault craft circling the Lady Vain.

"Stand your ground and fight!" Hack bellowed back, "Nobody goes nowhere!"

"_Fuck you! I'm getting outta here!"_

The hybrid feline stood towering over one of the bridge stations, fuming into the comm system.  
"I swear when I get off this ship, I am going to hunt down each and every one of you spineless cowards, and then make you wish you've never been _born!_"

"_I know when I'm beat, and I'll take spineless coward over brainless idiot any day."  
_The other speaker cut-off the channel, and the few remaining pirate assault craft made their jumps away.

In that time, the arriving ships came into clear view. Four were a variety of fightercraft, one was a medium-sized freighter, and the last Hack recognized as the same shuttlecraft that escaped the Lady Vain's hangar deck. The sight of it brought him to a quiet rage, but with internal calculations already underway...

"_Lose something?"  
_The needle-nosed InterPatrol officer's smug face appeared on the ship's main audio/visual comm system. _  
"By the authority of Lylat Interplanetary Patrol, you are hereby placed under arrest under charges of piracy ."_

Hack stepped closer to the viewscreen, eyeing the chocolate-brown canine on the other end under sharp scrutiny. When he did speak, it was with a condescending tone of mock-civility  
"I don't think I recognize your face from InterPatrol's personnel files, are you new here?"

"_Captain Catherine Doyle, and yes I was recently given this command. The rest is frankly none of your business."_

"Ah, that would explain the new underhanded tactic, it's very unlike the others' methods. Well played Miss Doyle, I'll have to keep you and your ways in-mind for the future..."  
The hybrid feline continued in his patronizing facade  
"Now if you'll be so kind as to lend me and my men a shuttlecraft, we'll be on our way and out of your fur in no time."

Captain Doyle remained unmoved, and simply shook her head at Hack's demands._  
"No sir, I'm afraid the only way you're getting off that ship is in my custody. Surrender yourself, and it won't have to get ugly."_

"Oh please, spare me the usual policeman's dogma." Hack scoffed, "Did you forget that I still have a whole shipload of helpless hostages? I'm more than happy to leave them all unharmed, but if you'd rather play hardball I'm afraid some innocent people are going to get caught in the crossfire. Lets avoid that mess, shall we?..."  
The hybrid feline swaggered over to the command station and cut the channel.  
"She's not going to bend, so we'll have to break them instead."

"And what exactly do you have in mind, Hack?..."  
Jay was at one of the bridge's operation stations, and more than a little nervous at their situation.  
"The ship is liable to crap-out down here, the hostages are starting to get antsy, and our own guys are starting to second-guess you. We ought to just ditch the whole thing and turn ourselves in, we can fight our way out from there."

"With what I'm planning it won't have to come to that..."  
Hack retrieved a headset from the command station and fitted it to his head.  
"Keep me patched in up here, I need to check up on a very specific passenger."

The star Fox fighters, InterPatrol bait freighter, and shuttlecraft held position over the glowing red surface of Solar. The passenger crusier Lady Vain stood several hundred meters in front of them, even closer to the . Occasionally, a few fingers of charged plasma would flash against the ship's strained shielding.

Captain Catherine Doyle's face came in over the channel as she hissed out a sigh of frustration.  
_"It doesn't sound like they're going to come quietly."_

Jack Lateran wasn't giving up yet._  
"There's gotta be something we can do."_

"_Believe me Mr. Lateran, when it comes to these goddamn hostage crises, there's really never an ideal option available."_

"_That's not good enough!"_ the coyote snapped.

Hack's voice burst onto the channel in the middle of it all, audio only._  
"Pardon me everyone, but I'd like to negotiate terms now."_

The canine officer shook her head in silence before giving a reluctant reply._  
"Alright, I'm listening."_

"_No, not with you Miss Doyle..." _  
A deep rumbling chuckle sounded over the comm channel.  
_"Jack Lateran's the name, isn't it?"_

"_What's it to you?"_

"_I feel I should thank you Jack, you just made these next few minutes a hell of a lot less stressful, for me anyway. Maybe you'll recognize her voice..."_

"_Jack!"_

"_Rihana!"  
_The coyote shuttle pilot shifted gradually from outrage to utter terror when he heard the frightened woman's voice._  
"What the hell did you do to her!"_

"_Hasn't anyone ever told you to be more careful with personal information?..."_  
The feline pirate let out a full-throated over the comm channel.  
_"Anyway, we're all a little short on time here so let's keep this simple. I really need that shuttle of yours Jack, I'll start to get bored if I don't get it soon and well – a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do right?"_

"_Let them have the shuttle Jack, please!" _Rihana's voice pleaded,_ "All they want is to leave and get out of here, that's it."_

"_You heard the lady, and come alone. If any of those beat-cops tag along with you, shit's gonna happen..."  
"The hangar deck will be open for you, you'll know what to do."_

A tense silence came over the channel once Hack cut out. Nobody moved, nobody said anything – the only sounds were that of the Comet Mk II's cockpit instruments, and the quiet breathing of anyone not holding their breath...

After a few very long seconds, Jack Lateran finally broke the icy silence.  
_"I'm going in."_

"_You are not going aboard that ship, not without backup." _the canine InterPatrol officer ordered,_ "At __least come aboard the freighter first so I can send some of my people with you, you'll catch them by surprise~"_

"_They'll kill Rihana and maybe everyone left aboard too if I do..."  
_The shuttlecraft fired it's thrusters, and began to move in toward the Lady Vain._  
"I'm sorry Captain, but this'll to have to be your ideal option – what's more important after all? Catching a few pirates, or saving innocent lives?"_

"_No Jack, listen to me! That thug is trying to pull a fast one on you. As soon as you're not of any value anymore, he'll~"  
_Captain Doyle stopped her explanation short._  
"Dammit! He's shut off his comm."_

"Then we'll just have to communicate by other means..."  
After sitting on the sidelines this long, James McCloud sprung into action. He launched his fighter toward the Lady Vain, easily overtaking Jack's shuttlecraft. Once he was within a hundred meters of the much larger vessel, James brought the Comet Mk II to a full stop, turned it around. With his nose toward Lateran, the vulpine pilot fired off a volley of warning shots harmlessly past the shuttle's right side...

The shuttlecraft did not alter course, but accelerated even faster, straight at McCloud. He could see into the shutle's cockpit as it closed in, with its unflinching pilot at the controls diving headlong into the Comet Mk II. James jammed his fighter's control column to the side trying to shift out of the way, but it wasn't enough. There was a slam, a lurch, alarms...

The vulpine pilot regained his senses inside the Comet Mk II cockpit. His body was physically intact but shaken, a number of alarms were still blearing, but the most drastic change was the view outside...

"_McCloud? Are you okay in there? We're not getting any response from Jack, he must've taken it pretty hard."  
_Captain Catherine Doyle's voice rang nervously through the headset, but the fighter's comm system was deactivated...

"I'm okay, more or less."  
James McCloud was no longer piloting a fighter through the vacuum of space, but sitting motionless on the floor of the Lady Vain's hangar deck. Jack's shuttle was nearby, dented and lightly damaged as it skidded to a halt on the deck. The coyote must've rammed straight into the fighter, shoving James into the hangar along with him...

"_There's been some new developments, and we could use your assistance if you're able..."_

"What's happening?..."  
He ran a quick diagnostic on the Comet Mk II and found most of the damage was mostly superficial. The impact shields overloaded the primary power grid from the collision, but a simple restart would fix that. Otherwise the structure and vital systems seemed to hold up pretty well, like most tech made by Axiom...

"_Apparently, the Lady Vain's captain and command crew have overpowered their captors and are putting up a stiff resistance from inside. We're going to try and dock with her to send in some backup."_

"What do you need me to do?"  
The fighter grunted back to life after its power grid rebooted, at which point James engaged the landing gear.

"_Keep their leader from leaving the ship, he's that brute you saw and heard on the comm – goes by the alias of 'Hack'. We suspect he'll try to make a break for it while everyone's distracted with the fighting. Do whatever you have to to stall him until we can get there, we'd like to have him alive."_

Once everything was in relative order, the vulpine pilot popped the canopy, put his wings into standby, and began undoing the restraining harness...  
"My team's right outside, cant we just~"

"_They're back!" _That was Peppy, taking point in Jame's absence outside,_ "Everybody form up and pick a target!"_

"_Goddammit, that changes everything." _Doyle hissed into the headset,_ "Take evasive action! Move!"_

When James looked , he saw a few of the pirates' assault craft make a pass across the hangar's outer entrance, eerily silenced by the vacuum of space between.

"_I'm sorry McCloud, but I just don't know what to tell you anymore..."_

James McCloud immediately reached for the controls in front of him, but hesitated. With the comm chatter now silenced, he could hear the muffled clamor of a firefight nearby within the ship: a few cracks of blaster-fire, shouted orders and occasional cries of agony, all the telltale signs of armed conflict. Jack's shuttlecraft was still laying quietly nearby, but the angle didn't show the pilot or what his condition was. Though damaged and dented, there wasn't any sign that the shuttle wouldn't run, and that's what the hijackers had demanded. The fox felt for the blaster on his hip – it was loaded, and he carried enough magazine charges to last a few reloads if it came to it...

"_Are you still there?"_

The doorway to the rest of the ship opened, and someone entered hangar control. It was only one and was too far to make out any detail, but the figure's stance looked worn and weathered, likely from the nearby fighting.

"Hold that thought..."  
James shut off his headset's comm, and vaulted out of the fighter's cockpit as silently as he could.

Hack entered the Lady Vain's hangar deck cautiously, with his blaster handgun drawn and ready. The shuttle was there just as he'd hoped, but it was damaged from a collision, and then there was the matter of the uninvited fighter. The hybrid feline stopped a moment, and listened – just the distant firefight behind, the quiet rumbling of ship systems, and an uncomfortable silence on top of that...

Hack raised his blaster toward the hangar deck's ceiling and fired three shots that echoed throughout the cavernous space for several seconds. There was still nothing...

He glanced hurriedly between the shuttlecraft and the fighter. The shuttle was damaged, though it appeared it would still function. The fighter on the other hand was in much better condition, looked ready to go, could be defended much more easily, and was totally unoccupied. No matter how one could slice it, the fighter was a better choice, and so he moved to take it...

The fighter's hull bore the markings and of Star Fox. From what he knew, they were an upstart mercenary band that catered to high budget big shots all across Lylat. Beyond that was little more than unreliable hearsay as they've only been active for a few years...

Hack slipped the handgun into his belt as he prepared to climb up and into the sturdy fighter's cockpit. He reached out, barely an inch from touching the fuselage, and was stopped when he felt the hard muzzle of a firearm press against the back of his skull.

"Twitch and you're dead."

"That so?"  
The hybrid feline brought his hands up in a nonchalant gesture of surrender.  
"I figured you'd want someone like me alive."

The fox guided Hack away from the fighter, never breaking nor bending the soldierly intensity of his actions.  
"Captain Doyle wants you alive, I really don't give a damn."

"That's right, you're only doing this for the money..."  
Though James stopped, Hack dropped his arms and continued away toward the shuttle nearby.  
"I'm sure you'll still get paid if I get away, you did your best after all~"

_*Blam!*_

The shot echoed through the hangar deck for several tense seconds, and the noise diminished into far too quiet a silence afterward. Both James McCloud and the pirate known as Hack remained stock still through it all. The fox stood with his weapon held out in a firm grip, while the larger hybrid feline stopped dead in his tracks.

"I don't give a damn if you die."

After a thoughtful second or so, Hack reached up and felt the line of smoking scorched fur across his jaw. The fox's shot grazed far too precisely to have been a simple miss – it was a warning, and the only one he'd likely give.

In light of the hurriedly reevaluated circumstances, the hybrid feline removed and dropped his own weapon to the hangar floor, and finally kicked it away for good measure.  
"Just how much are these InterPatrol blowhards paying you?" he asked as he turned to face the stubborn mercenary holding him at gunpoint, "The way you're acting, you must either making bank on this job or broke. Maybe you and I can come to some sort of monetary understanding."

"Or maybe I believe in something more important than money..."  
James closed in on the captive, slowly circling behind him.  
"Do you have any idea how many fake wars are being fought because of filth like you? Petty little political squabbles are exploding out of proportion across Lylat, all because state-of-the-art weapons and military gear are finding their way into the hands of these dumb little fringe groups. The arms dealers have to be getting there wares from somewhere – from pirates like you."

Hack rolled his eyes, hardly fazed by the mercenary's extensive extrapolation.  
"Is that what Miss Doyle told you when she bought your allegiance, with _money?_"

"Shut up, get down, and keep your hands behind your head where I can see them..."  
The vulpine pilot did his best to ignore the jeering, but the latest taunt struck a nerve, threatening to crack through his discipline.  
"_Now!_"

Hack dropped to his knees as commanded with his hands behind his head, but still continued to speak.  
"Miss Doyle wants me alive because I know things, things that she and all the other little hunters won't ever have the chance to know if I'm dead because if I'm dead, I'll just be another number on the bodycount. If you really believe in things worth more than mere money, then I'm sure I have something that'll be of value to you."

The fox considered his options – lacking any means of restraint, he had the pirate is about as secure a position as was feasible. If only to stall for more time, he indulged in Hack's little game.  
"What things do you know?"

"So you all think _this_ is the jackpot?" the larger hybrid feline replied with a low rumbling chuckle, "Do you really think taking hostages and ripping off cargo freighters is where _real _value is at these days? This is like a little day-job for me~"

James jammed the muzzle of is blaster handgun against the pirate's temple, cutting him off.  
"You haven't answered me yet, what do you know?"

"Cerinia: the things going on out there will blow your mind..."  
With his bait presented, Hack made his move.  
"Let me pass, I'll be glad to fill in the details for you another day under better circumstances."

But James didn't bite.  
"Nice try, but that's not going to happen."

"Your loss..."

In a lightning quick motion, Hack sprung his hands from behind his head to the barrel of Jame's blaster, and yanked the weapon forward over his shoulder. The fox knew he couldn't hang on to it, not without losing balance, and made the tactical choice of ejecting the magazine cartridge barely an instant before his grip gave out.

The hybrid feline burst to his feet and threw an elbow behind him where James was, continuing his relentless aggressive assault. The vulpine pilot ducked under the elbow, and quickly used his left arm to grapple across Hack's chest, redirecting the aggressive momentum to trip him over a leg and onto his back.

James moved in to pin him down, but his opponent was already recovering with a whirlwind of kicks as he twisted his head and shoulders against the deck floor. One of these flying feet caught McCloud by surprise and knocked him staggering back with a bleeding cheek, allowing Hack the split-second he needed to kick-up back to his feet.

The fox wasted no time, and quickly advanced on his opponent with a flurry of aggressive kick maneuvers. Though more cumbersome than other footwear, the hard heavy tanker boots of a pilot granted the wearer extra protection, extra force, and extra impact which James had learned to utilize in hand-to-hand combat.

Hack stepped back, somewhat surprised by the speed and tremendous force behind his smaller opponent's kicks. Despite the constant barrage from the mercenary, he was able to receive the blows easily enough while he looked for the opening.

After pummeling on the hybrid feline's defenses, one of Jame's kicks was caught under his opponent's arms in a grapple. Hack moved to sweep the other leg out from under the fox and land him on his back, The mercenary saw the takedown coming and twisted his body to avoid it, sending his free leg crashing into the side of Hack's head.

The blow sent the hybrid feline staggering back a few feet, allowing a momentary pause in the fighting. Both James and Hack spotted the loaded blaster which the pirate dropped earlier, but McCloud was closer. James started toward the weapon, but a small object was flung his way – a comm headset he realized. He ducked the improvised missile easily enough, but it was simply a distraction. Hack was already lunging toward the fox, and with no time to dodge out of the way or prepare a normal counterattack.

From his crouching position, just as the larger hybrid feline was pouncing for the kill, James McCloud exploded into rising backflip and kick. The wheel-like blow sliced between Hack's outstretched arms, and the heavy steel toe of Jame's boot smashed into his opponent's jaw and throat with an unimaginable upward force. The sheer impact stopped the furious pirate in his tracks, but the odd nature of the attack left the fox landing on the deck at an awkward side angle, taking its heavy toll on both combatants.

By the end of it, they were both beaten, bloodied, bruised and sprawled on the hangar deck's floor. The two of them scrambled to their weary feet as quickly as their bodies allowed, but James was the quicker. While Hack was still wheezing and gasping through his battered throat, McCloud was able to limp over to the blaster, seize it, and turn it on his hapless opponent.

"I... don't have time for this." James managed between heaving breaths.

The fox was about to pull the weapon's trigger for the coup de grâce, when the entire hangar deck bucked violently. The unexpected tremor knocked McCloud clean off his feet, and the blaster out of his hand. By the time he'd gotten back on his feet with weapon in-hand, Hack was already sprinting the short distance toward Jack's battered shuttlecraft.

"Stop!..."  
James pursued him on uncooperative legs across the swaying deck, firing haphazard shots against the pirate that all missed by miles.  
"You son of a _bitch!_"

When he got to the shuttle's boarding ramp, a limp body was hurled out and landed squarely on top of McCloud. The fox buckled under the sudden force and collapsed under the dead weight. The body was that of Jack Lateran – breathing, but not conscious. He'd live.

By the time James pulled himself out from under Jack, the shuttlecraft had already closed its boarding ramp and was going through its startup sequence. The vulpine mercenary reactivated his headset, and addressed his comrades.  
"McCloud to team, what's the situation out there?"

"_We've dispatched the last of them oot here. We were just about tae head in to assist."_

"Well scratch that! Hack has control the shuttlecraft Jack brought in, and he's about to..."  
James heard a sound he shouldn't have been hearing, at least not here and not not now.  
"Oh no."

"_What the hell is going on in there?"_

The shuttle was only a few feet off the hangar deck, in taxi mode as it was supposed to be, but something was off. The normal rumble of the craft's reactor wasn't constant as it should've been under the circumstances. It was instead escalating both in pitch and volume – the powering up of a high-load capacitor.  
"That crazy bastard! He's gonna make a jump from _inside_ the hangar bay!"

With Jack Lateran still limp and unconscious, James dragged the limp coyote across the hangar deck as hard as he could toward toward the safety of hangar control where a number of worn out crewmen were waiting inside. Two of the crewmen dashed out to take Jack, allowing them to make it into the crowded control room in time.

_*Crack!*_

Like a lighting strike in sound and appearance, a blinding flash of light engulfed the Lady Vain's hangar deck, but only for an instant. As suddenly as it was there, it was gone, leaving no trace of the shuttlecraft that made the jump.

While the crew around him went busy, James was the only one standing still. He simply stood by one of the control room's wide windows, staring to the outside with his arms folded across his chest.

After several seconds, someone came up behind the fox and questioned him.  
"You're the mercenary, James McCloud?"

"Yeah." the fox responded flatly.

"We need you and your fighter off this ship, now."

"I'll bet."  
He just shrugged, still focused on the empty space in front of him.

"It's unfortunate that he got away, but we can't afford to indulge your sulking right now..."  
James didn't look to see who he was talking with, but the voice carried on anyway.  
"There's been a partial failure of the G-diffuser array, and it's making us sink into Solar's surface. The ship and everyone aboard can still be saved, but to do that we have to lose every gram of excess mass and take the load off what's left of our G-diffuser systems. That fighter of yours represents several tons of excess mass we can't have weighing us down~"

"Right, I'll get on it." James interrupted.

Without interacting with any of the crew, the vulpine mercenary jogged out of the control room back onto the hangar deck to where his Comet Mk II waited for him. The deck was quiet, with only the sound of Jame's echoing footsteps and the background drone of ship's systems making noise. The air did however feel much hotter than it should've, and the bloody glow of Solar was far brighter than it was before.

The fox clambered up into the cockpit of his fighter and set it through the takeoff sequence without any difficulties. Upon exiting the hangar bay, he noticed a whole slew of items streaming out of the Lady Vain along with him. Cargo containers, spare parts, empty escape pods and other objects too small to be clearly discerned – anything that the ship didn't need in order to function was being cast off to lighten the load...

At the same time though, the massive passenger liner angled its bow upward away from Solar's surface. When the Lady Vain's structure reached a roughly perpendicular angle, she fired her engines as hard as they'd flare, combating the dwarf star's gravity grip with sheer thrust. The ship's descent slowed, stalled for a few seconds, and the struggling vessel began to rise up away from the sea of blood-red flames...

Something failed, and the Lady Vain began to veer off to one side, cutting at an angle instead of straight up. The ship twisted itself about to compensate, and despite the setbacks it looked like she'd still pull out of it alright. Then there was another failure – one of the engine thrusters popped with a small explosion, and began spewing smoke and debris from its wound...

The strained vessel could no longer handle it. A torrent of small failures chipped away at the ship's systems, culminating in one dire fact: she was snared in the unforgiving grip of gravity, and there was no escape. Like a great beast trapped in a tar pit, the Lady Vain succumbed to her fate, collapsing down into the endless sea of blood flames.

After only seconds of contact with Solar's photosphere, the shields gave out, and exposed the hull directly to the elements. The exterior plating peeled away piece by piece, punctuated by quick flare-ups of real fire where the oxygen from the ship met the dwarf star's superheated hydrogen. With the escaping air came also escaping objects from within; scores of small of tiny black spots too far to be seen clearly...

The spots were people, they must've been, it couldn't have been anything else. The Lady Vain's passengers, crew, men women and children across the spectrum of species – all swept out of the vessel's crumbling safety to a grisly death by incineration. There would be no bodies, no shipwreck, not even a shred of drifting refuse would escape the blazing crushing depths. Her one and only possible survivor would be the pirate by who's hand she was doomed in the first place...

And so the fires of Solar consume all.

* * *

The living room's lights were dark, and the windows to the outside showed only the black sky of night. Light came instead from the wall mounted display screen, casting its images' shifting diffused glow across the space. Vixy sat curled on the couch with a cushion clutched in her arms, watching the display screen in front of her with the silent cold terror of uncertainty...

"We've... we've just received received an update regarding the whereabouts of the hijacked passenger cruiser Lady Vain..."  
The screen was showing a Lylat Tribune breaking news bulletin, anchored by the blue-gray dove Victoria Goura. The avian journalist was clearly distraught in her position, but that wasn't going to stop her from carrying out her duty.  
"According to our latest report from Interplanetary Patrol, after a misaligned jump made by the hijackers that brought the Lady Vain dangerously close to Solar, her G-diffuser systems suffered a catastrophic failure under immense gravitational strain, and she fell into the dwarf star..."  
A chilling silence came over the broadcast, accompanied by and equally chilling stillness on screen.  
"No survivors..."

A bright beam of light cut through the living room from the bay window that looked out onto the street. It was a pair of headlights pulling into the driveway, and the engine's distinct rumbling purr identified the vehicle as Jame's preferred muscle car. The engine stopped, the headlights extinguished, and a few quiet seconds later the front door slid open.

James McCloud was there on the other side, still adorned in his flight suit and jacket along with all his other equipment. Though returning home in full combat regalia was unusual it itself, what was even more out-of-place with the vulpine mercenary was the haunted, glassy, thousand-meter stare in his steel blue eyes. The fox stepped slowly into his home, weighed down by his silent burden...

"James?..."  
Vixy rose up from the couch to cross to her husband, and saw the fox's ghostly mask for herself.  
"My God, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer immediately, and instead drifted to the coffee table where the display screen's remote control lay. Without picking it up, James reached down and entered a command into the remote control to freeze the news program. The screen at the time was showing stock footage of the Lady Vain under far better circumstances from its past.

"I can hear them..."  
He turned his distant gaze toward the silent and motionless display screen.  
"That ship, and all those people... I was there and there was nothing I could do to save them. I had to stand back, watch as the ship and everyone aboard got torched alive. The screaming, the wailing, the cursing – I wasn't on the ship, but my head put voices there and... _I can hear them._"

Vixy had no vocal response, and instead took the traumatized pilot in a sympathetic embrace. James returned the gesture, wrapping his rigid arms around the vixen's waist an let her lean more on him. He was in a place far beyond the reaches of emotion, where neither tears nor rage could manifest. For a short while, the two of them remained in each other's arms and let time slip away...

"Daddy?"  
The innocent little voice shattered the silence.

James and Vixy separated from each other, and found their tiny toddler of a son at the foot of the staircase, dressed in his favorite spaceship pajamas.

"What are you doing up Fox?" Vixy asked, "Bedtime was hours ago."

"I see Daddy come home."  
He pointed at the front door.

"Well Daddy is very upset right now, and he needs quiet time for rest."

"Why?"

"Because something very bad happened at Daddy's work."

"Why?"

James McCloud froze in place with bated breath. Such a simple question 'why', but one without an answer.

After a few seconds, Vixy let out a quiet sigh and moved in toward her son.  
"Come on Fox, let's go back to bed."

"No wait..."  
James grabbed her arm, gently holding her back while he advance in her place.  
"I'll put him to bed."

"James."  
The vixen placed a hand on his shoulder as she voiced her concern.

"Let me do this, please."  
He glanced back over his shoulder to his wife, and in his eye was a telltale spark of life that wasn't there before.

With some reluctance, Vixy let him go. The weathered vulpine mercenary bent down as he scooped young Fox up on to his shoulders, and carried him up the stairs to his room. Under other circumstances, he would've likely remained cold and stagnant, but the opportunity and responsibility gave him enough motivation to keep going. Though not lively by any measure, it was a start.

* * *

_You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it._

-Maya Angelou-


	30. Anomaly

_**Anomaly**_

Rich, slightly salty scents of the sea mingled with the rugged urban backdrop of Port Seyid, Zoness. The Sun, and Solar too if one looked hard enough, hung about halfway between its noon position and the horizon line in a sky of scattered clouds over the Zonessian port city's expanse. A few skycars passed overhead every so often, while spacecraft ascended or descended even further above and over the gleaming modern district some ways away. A particular plaza in one of Port Seyid's more historic districts was busy in this early evening, but not crowded. Several quaint restaurants with open-air seating were already taking advantage of the pleasant conditions with a few early diners. A number of street merchants had their stalls set up in the middle of the square or around the edges, hocking their widely varied wares to all sorts of passers by, but particularly to the clearly identifiable tourists who stumbled into their midst.

Into this scene walked a keen-eyed fox with a salt-and-pepper fur pattern reminiscent of white noise, but with distinct reddish patches at his ears and eye sockets. He wore a typical set of street clothes for the warm, humid seaport air: shirt made of a lighter material, loose fitting calf-length shorts, a pair of sturdy yet comfortable shoes, and an earpiece for a personal comm in one of his highly alert ears. The most distinguishing factor of this individual though, was the compact and well-worn equipment bag he carried slung over his shoulder.

Out of this bag the fox removed a professional style Kodex brand camera, normally used by photographers. He activated the camera and brought its sight up to his eye as he sighted the plaza down the viewfinder. Just before the vulpine took the photo, he stopped, and turned the camera around to examine the front side of it... then snapped a quick series of shots over his shoulder.

The fox looked over these photos in the camera's display, then replaced his eye behind the viewfinder again as he spoke a few quiet words.

"I have a shadow."

"_Do you want to abort?"  
_The female voice that replied over his earpiece was that of Rachelle Cooney.

"No, I can lose him. They must be on to me..."  
The vulpine shot a few more photographs as he quickly surveyed the surrounding plaza.

"_Well if you're going to make a move, then make it quick. We're on a schedule and we'll leave without you if you're not there."_

"Entendo."  
He stowed the camera back in its bag, and began a brisk walk across the bustling plaza roughly toward Port Seyid's modern district.

Most of the people he passed ignored him or gave the fox a passing glance, but he could feel another set of eyes pinned on him from afar, following his every move. The shadow wouldn't dare try anything drastic in the crowded narrow streets of the historic district, but the vulpine would have to lose the uninvited follower fast, and that meant something drastic.

After a few moments sifting through intermittent masses of people int the narrow streets, the fox reached the exterior of an old-fashioned public library wedged between a pair of antique buildings typical of the Port Seyid historical district. He entered through the unique building's front doors into a lobby, where the din of the city outside diminished into the hushed focus of the library. The fox never changed his steady pace as he passed through the open atrium toward a set of stairs. He knew the shadow would still be on him, but at least the library's complex layout would buy a few precious seconds...

The grayish vulpine came out of the staircase on the fourth floor up, where the only witnesses nearby were a small group of three in a reading area. One a squat amphibian, another a bright multicolored avian, and the third a burnt orange primate. He heard the three of them in a focused conversation when he passed – something about the effectiveness of certain superconductors. Whatever the case, they weren't going to be a hindrance.

The fox headed for a nearby set of shelves containing row after row of bound documents – technical manuals he realized once he got close enough. All the time he made note of the security cameras' locations, and found a suitable blind spot in the system close by. The vulpine weaved his way to that spot, careful not to draw attention with any sudden movements. Once he got there, and double-checked for any witnesses, the fox removed one of the bound sets and flipped open a page. He only glanced over it a few seconds, but as he did, he also quietly removed an arc-lighter from the same pocket he kept the cigarettes he didn't normally smoke. The smokes were great social icebreakers, and a great excuse to keep a lighter around for times like these. While he 'read' the bound technical manual, the vulpine activated the arc-lighter and set it on the shelf with its activation mechanism locked on.

After checking his surroundings for prying eyes, the fox stepped away from the shelf with the technical manual in-hand, making note of the locations of fire alarms and emergency exits, both of which were close enough. The instant he caught a whiff of the unmistakable scent of burning paper, the grayish vulpine sprang for the nearest fire alarm, and set it off.

The quiet focus of the library was instantly obliterated by the blare of alarms, flashing emergency signals, and soon the frantic rush of frightened people. The fox first tightening the straps of his camera bag so it clung tightly to his chest instead of hanging from the side, and made a dash for the emergency exit amidst the quickly swirling chaos behind him...

*_Hisssss..._*

The noise came from a network of pipes and valves hung above the shelves, releasing an invisible substance into the air. That'd be the library's gaseous fire suppression system, designed to remove oxygen from the air and snuff out the fire. Such systems were often used in places like libraries, where water from sprinklers could potentially cause even more damage than fire. Normal procedure called for the building to be vacated at once, and so that's what the fox did. Within moments, the grayish fox burst the emergency exit wide open and flung himself out onto the neighboring building's rooftop.

The Port Seyid historical district's skyline maintained the famous old-fashioned charm that helped to lure many unsuspecting tourists to the city. It was a landscape of its own, dominated by gently sloping ceramic tile rooftops and the occasional terrace. The gleaming spires and skyscrapers of the modern district loomed some distance to the north, while the vast blue-green Zonessian ocean extended west beyond the last buildings.

Having surveyed the surroundings and straightened his bearings, the fox took off toward the west toward the oceanfront. The streets were still narrow here, and with a running start could easily be jumped. The grayish vulpine handled the many leaps, bounds and clamberings with ease and acrobatic grace, overcoming any physical obstacles with practiced agility.

"I think I lost him..." he managed between the deep running breaths, "I'll be there in about three or four~"

A blaster shot ripped past and struck a nearby roofing tile, barely missing the fox's partially exposed leg.

"Porra _Santo!_" the fox cursed, stumbling from the surprise of it.

"_What the hell is going on?" _Rachelle asked through the comm's earpiece

Without breaking stride or losing momentum, the grayish vulpine glanced behind with that same question on his own mind.  
"That damned shadow is still on me... and now he's taking potshots!"

"_You said you'd lose him, Cupèlo."_

"You think I don't know that?" Cupèlo snapped back, now weaving back and forth across the rooftops to avoid incoming fire. "...I can still shake this lobo louco _and_ get to the extraction point with time to spare... Just you wait."

The grayish vulpine was nearing the edge of the low skyline, where the densely clustered buildings of the historical district gave way to a great open stretch along the harbor. There was a proper street there busy with traffic, as well as sprawling pedestrian walkway connecting to commercial piers and wharfs. But there was also an elevated rapid-transit metro line that ran alongside the last buildings, and a train happened to be closing in as the fox was reaching the edge...

Cupelo came to the edge of the final building with momentum to spare, and leapt from the rooftop to the moving train below him. The grayish vulpine landed with a heavy _thud_ on all fours and nearly skidded off the far side of the train car's top before finding a handhold to grab onto. He pulled himself to a steady position, and surveyed his position again while he caught his breath.

The fox was atop the northbound train, with piers and harbor to the left, historic district to the right, and the gleaming modern district some ways ahead. The shadow wouldn't be sending any blaster-fire here, not unless he wanted the police on his ass with all the people watching. Yet, as helpful as law enforcement may be to slow down the pursuer, there wasn't any time to indulge their procedures...

"I think I lost him this time..."  
Cupèlo practically had to shout over the wind and racket of the moving train he clung to.  
"I'm on the red metro line now, heading north to the extraction point."

"_Really? How did you get aboard the metro so fast?"_

"Creatively..."  
The bustling historic district gradually dissolved into a more run-down section of Port Seyid. The buildings became less 'antique' and more of outright urban decay. Many former shops and storefronts had their windows and doors boarded up, and some structures were stripped bare to their steel and concrete bones. Most surfaces bore a colorful overlay of graffiti...

"I'll be arriving at the point momentarily..." the fox said as the train began to pass an abandoned port complex, barely distinguishable from the surrounding squalor if not for the pier jutting out into the harbor. "Is evac going to be there?"

"_It should." _Cooney replied in a flat voice.

Up ahead was an old station that'd fallen into disrepair from disuse, much like the rest of the local urban decay. Though the train showed no signs of stopping at the derelict station, this is where Cupèlo would get off. As the metro closed in on the platforms, the fox brought himself up to a low coiled-spring crouch, eyeing the platform surface for potential obstacles. One mistake at this speed could easily tear ligaments or break bones, and compromise his essential mobility...

Satisfied, the grayish vulpine sprang from the top of the moving train onto the platform, landing with a fast roll back onto his feet. Cupèlo continued to sprint along the platform, preserving the tremendous momentum from his jump. As soon as the last car of the metro overtook him, the fox turned and leapt across the tracks onto the opposite platform, making a beeline for the station exit and staircase...

Instead of simply descending the stairs normally, Cupèlo used his momentum to spring down the staircase in a cartwheel flip onto the intermediate landing, and followed-up with a similar acrobatic maneuver down to street level. After rolling onto his feet, the fox altered his course toward the abandoned port complex he passed earlier, and noticed a figure exiting a taxicab some ways away...

"_Merda_ Cacete!" Cupèlo swore through gritted teeth.

"_Is that shadow still on your tail?"_

The fox sprinted his way across the sparsely trafficked street, but not fast enough to avoid his pursuer's eye  
"I don't know how he does it, but he managed to follow me all the way here in a taxi!..."  
When he reached the other side, the grayish vulpine bounded up the side of one of the skeletal buildings into a second story window-frame, where he could catch both his breath and his bearings.

"_He must be tracking you through your comm..." _Rachelle replied into the fox's earpiece, _"Turn it off, take out the battery, and proceed silently."_

The derelict pier was still on the far side of several meters worth of rubble and collapsed building. Maybe a few miles to the north, a medium sized sea vessel was cutting through the harbor south along the cluttered coastline. It would likely pass the ruined port complex in only a matter of minutes.  
"What about that shadow?"

"_You're just going to have to think creatively on this one until we get there."_

"Vai entender..." The fox said with a sigh, "I'll see you on the other side."

Cupèlo disabled his comm as instructed, and checked the hidden pocket in his camera bag for the compact blaster handgun. He pulled the discreet weapon out and prepped it, watching the figure of his pursuer duck into the abandoned port complex. The fox moved without a sound across the ruins toward the pier, listening over the ambient background of small breaking waves, distant urban hubbub, whistling wind and other normal noises for anything that'd betray the shadow's presence...

A piece of concrete crumbled off nearby on the ground floor, out of sight. Cupèlo sprang across an opening and fired several covering shots toward the noise made by his pursuer. The blasterfire held the shadow at bay while the fox made several leaps and bounds closer to his destination. Cupèlo ceased fire after a few moments, knowing the pursuer would alter his actions. The southbound ship was closing in fast, he'd only have to stall for a few moments longer...

The shadow must've learned his lesson the first time, and wasn't giving any telltale signs of existence, the fox would have to lure him out instead.

Cupèlo searched the ground immediately at his feet, and found a suitable fist-sized chunk of broken concrete. Carefully, the grayish vulpine bent down and scooped it up, then hurled it across the ruins where it landed with a sharp crack and tumble. It was quickly followed by a series of blaster shots, the shooter remaining unseen. Amidst the brief confusion, Cupèlo sprang from his second-story perch to the ground level, and maneuvered his way onto the pier...

About halfway to the end of the dock, the pursuer got wise to the gimmick and began sending his fire after the fleeing fox. Cupèlo returned fire as he ran, attempting to throw-off the shadow's aim as much as possible. At the moment the grayish vulpine reached the end of the pier, both weapons' charges came up dry. Cupèlo scrambled inside his bag for the extra magazine cartridge, but he could already hear his adversary reloading and rearming his own blaster. When the fox glanced up, he was staring down the barrel of a blaster handgun roughly twenty meters down...

_*Blam!*_

Cupèlo launched backwards over the water, twisting with the angle of the shot as he plummeted into the harbor below. Though unharmed, any onlooker would've assumed he was just killed by the shot, or by the fall afterward. The fox plunged into the cold murky water head-first, then quickly spread his limbs out as he neared the bottom to slow down and avoid striking any rocks or debris.

After taking a second to adjust to the underwater environment, Cupèlo heard the dull rumble of a sea ship's engine turbine growing louder, and saw the vessel's hull slicing through the surface above some several meters away, closing fast. The grayish vulpine kicked his legs and thrashed his arms with all the effort he could muster, slipping his way to the far side where the ship would pass between him and the pier. Just as the vessel passed next to him, the fox rose the surface where a line was dropped for him snaking along the water's surface.

Cupèlo grabbed hold of the rope, and was dragged through the water alongside the sea ship for several meters as he was reeled in by a winch on the vessel's deck. The soaked fox was soon hoisted out of the water, and helped onto the deck by a pair of the ship's crewmen.

Cupèlo collapsed at his rescuer's feet, drenched to the bone and practically gasping for breath from his earlier adrenaline-packed escapades. Another set of footsteps approached as he lay sprawled on the deck – one footfall sounded normal enough, but the other struck against the floor with a distinct rigid _clonk._

The grayish vulpine looked up, and found the silhouetted figure of Richard Cooney standing over him with the setting sun behind him. He saw that Cooney wore a gray crewman's jumpsuit with blue trim, the same as many others aboard the ship. The raccoon reached down, offering his hand to Cupèlo.

He took it, and Rick helped the exhausted soaked fox to his feet.  
"Nice work, I almost thought we lost you for a second there..."

The moment Cupèlo stood upright, he was greeted by the muzzle of a compact blaster handgun equipped with a noise suppressor pressed against his head. The weapon was in the free hand of Richard Cooney, while his other still held the fox's hand in a friendly grip.

Cupèlo flinched at the sudden change of circumstances, but was too fatigued to try anything – where would he run anyway?  
"No no no no wait, I can still be useful..." the fox bargained desperately, "I have plenty of contacts within parties of interest all over the city. Let me help you, _please!_"

Rick's steady gaze and equally steady hand never altered.  
"You had your chance for that, and you wasted it by betraying our trust."

_*Zht!*_

The suppressed blaster shot ripped through Cupèlo's skull, barely making a sound as it did...

* * *

Tom Bishop:_ It's not a fucking game! _

Nathan Muir:_ Oh yes it is, that's exactly what it is, and it's no kid's game either. This is a whole other game; and it's serious, and it's dangerous, and it's not one you want to lose. _

Tom Bishop:_ Nathan, we killed this man. We used him and we killed him. Okay, then you got to help me understand this one... __And don't give me some bullshit about the greater good. _

Nathan Muir:_ That's exactly what it's about, because what we do is unfortunately very, very necessary. And if you're not willing to sacrifice scum like Schmidt for those that want nothing more than their freedom, then you'd better take a long hard look at your chosen profession my friend, because it doesn't get any easier..._

-Spy Game-

* * *

"After that, I had Jäeger's crew dump Cupèlo Domingo back into the harbor. When his body turned up, the authorities assumed he was killed by an assassin hired by one of the black market circles he was working with..."

It was one of the plain conference rooms of LCI Headquarters, furnished with a table surrounded by mostly empty chairs, as well as the usual Information Technology suite, currently deactivated. In one of these chairs sat Richard Cooney, donning the ordinary business casual attire favored by those within HQ.

Opposite the raccoon were two figures. One was a lady bird of prey with iron-gray plumage, offset by a pair of stark white bands across her predatory eyes. She was the recently appointed new Director of Central Intelligence who went by the name _Isabelle Hawking,_ and she'd made a point to familiarize herself with agents of interest inside her recently inherited organization. The iron-gray avian also had a sheaf of hard-copy documents laid out before her, which she sometimes leafed through as she listened.

The other figure was considerably less prominent – a mottled crested iguana who didn't speak, but periodically entered notes into a notebook computer as Cooney talked.

"Domingo was a classic case of a double-agent gone sour." Rick continued, "While he supplied us with redundant intel from his sources, he turned right around and gave these same sources details about our Zonessian assets. His actions resulted in the deaths of dozens of agents and informants at the hands of various death-squads across Zoness. Cutting him out was the quickest, cleanest, and least painful way to ensure the safety of our other resources there, like Captain Otto Jäeger and his crew for example."

"It was a good clean operation, Mr. Cooney..."  
Isabelle Hawking kept a steady stance at the table, her wing-hands clasped together in front of her as she spoke.  
"You identified a problem, divulged the most efficient means by which to solve it, and proceeded in a discreet, timely manner with minimal damages. And quite frankly, that's more than I can say about many of our personnel in positions similar to yours."

"But it should've been cleaner. The point-man of that opp was supposed to give Domingo the killing blow, not me. I was the backup plan..."  
Rick paused, rubbing his forehead as he maintained his impassive tone.  
"To be honest, I really don't like killing on the job if it can be avoided."

"I certainly hope you don't like it, Mr. Cooney." Hawking responded, "The last thing this agency needs is a agent handlers who are hyped up on testosterone with a taste for cold-blooded killing. At least you've shown that you are willing to get your hands dirty when the situation warrants it."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"Indeed..."  
The iron-gray avian gave Rick a stoic nod, and paused a moment before moving on.  
"Many of the personnel we get are pulled out of the military elite. They come to us after years of active black-ops duty have hardened and sharpened them into extremely efficient instruments of death. Most of our training with these types involves toning their instincts down so they can pick-up and act on more subtle elements. According to your file however, you seemed to have the opposite issue."

"I was never a killer ma'am..." Rick replied, "I may came from a less than respectable background, but I was only a petty IT thief – a stealer of data, not lives. And under my cover as Union Congress Secret Service, the mission was always the preservation and protection of life, never to kill unless absolutely necessary."

Hawking shuffled through some of the documents before her, and extracted a select which she glanced over as she spoke.  
"You also seem to have built a little family unit for yourself. There's your sister, Rachelle Cooney, and a young man you have listed as an 'adopted nephew' named James McCloud. For someone in a position as sensitive as yours, these people could present enemies with leverage they can potentially use against you and this agency respectively. Can you assure me they won't be a liability?"

Cooney took a firm stance, only a few notches below outright anger.  
"Rache works extremely closely with me, practically as my equal, and knows plenty about clandestine intelligence tradecraft. She's one of a tiny handful of people that I can trust with life. And considering Jim's profession and relative success as a private military contractor, I can vouch for his ability to take care of himself if shit hits the fan."

"I understand if my questions seem prying, Mr. Cooney." The iron gray avian responded calmly, "But whenever I see an individual in this agency with close personal ties like yours, I have to take the worst possible scenarios into account, especially for someone with a service record as astonishingly stable as yours. You've either been extraordinarily careful or extraordinarily lucky in your career to remain with us as long as you have – almost twenty years now."

"I was nabbed be pretty young, far earlier than former military or law enforcement personnel. I think I'm still pretty low on the average age of personnel in my position, despite my extensive length of service..."  
Rick took a thoughtful pause for a moment or two, his eyes looking far beyond the confines of the conference room.  
"As for Rache and Jim, it is my personal belief that they've helped keep me sane these past years, otherwise I just might've become one of those testosterone-hyped cold-blooded killers you mentioned."

"That brings us to the one truly dark, black spot on your record, Mr. Cooney: the scenario with one 'Makita Kishu', to whom you've given the alias 'Mack Rider'."  
Isabelle Hawking anticipated the raccoon's defensiveness, and rebutted with preemptive and precise reassurance.  
"I don't question your judgment at all – your predecessor, Col. Peter Cotton, has already taken full responsibility for your actions as your handler. Personally, I think he took too heavy a workload juggling you with his work as liaison to the Cornerian military. The stress got to him, and he wasn't able to properly wield your skills and talents; retirement was exactly what he needed."

"I take it you found someone else to take his place as Cornerian military liaison?" Cooney asked out of curiosity.

"Col. Cotton was already grooming Cpt. Basil Pepper to replace him, so we had Pepper assume those responsibilities around the same time you were promoted..."  
The iron gray avian stopped herself, and steered back to the conversation at hand.  
"But I digress. After your little adventure that claimed Col. Cotton's career, you then decided to train and use this Kishu as your asset. Do you really believe that is the best use for someone as troubled as he seemed to be?"

Rick gave her a confident nod, and proceeded to answer the question.  
"He's got nothing better to do with his life, he has the necessary skillset and ability to succeed here, and this line of work will keep him out of the kind of trouble I first found him in."

"So in a way, he is a lot like you were, and you sympathize with his predicament."

"I suppose you could say that, and I turned out all right didn't I?"

Hawking let the moment hang for a second, then turned and whispered something to her reptilian attendant before finally responding to Cooney.  
"Well, I do believe that about sums it up for the time being..." she said in a conclusionary tone, gathering the pile of documents together as she did, "Thank you for being available for me, Mr. Cooney. You may be an anomaly within this agency, but you've thus far proved to be a highly competent and successful anomaly. I look forward to working with you a great deal more in the near future."  
With the hard-copy documents organized and being taken up by the quiet iguana, the iron gray avian stood up and offered her wing-hand across the table.

Rick followed suit in his actions, and accepted her hand in a professional handshake.  
"The feeling is mutual, ma'am."

As Cooney and his newly appointed superior began to leave the conference room, Hawking left the raccoon with a few parting words.  
"I know for certain the worlds of Lylat would be at each other's throats if the petty conflicts were left on their own to escalate into full-scale war. The system _needs_ dedicated individuals like yourself, Mr. Cooney; because if we in Central Intelligence can't remain a cohesive and stable unit, what chance does the rest of Lylat have?"

* * *

The door chime rang once again in the dark...

"I'm coming, I'm coming... lights on..." grumbled a groggy voice that'd clearly been interrupted from sleep.

The lights in the main room of the Cooney's apartment faded up, revealing a black night sky outside, and Rick Cooney himself. The raccoon was dressed in little more than the shorts and t-shirt he normally slept in, and he was limping awkwardly toward the apartment's front door on a cybernetic prosthetic that ran its power-cell dry. The experience was somewhere between a peg-leg, and a leg that'd fallen asleep...

In any case, Rick made it to the door and opened it. On the other side were James McCloud and Scott Aberdeen, both in ordinary street clothes.

"Jim, Scott, what do you want at..." Cooney checked around, but found no clock, "What time is it?"

Scott stepped past the raccoon into the apartment main room.  
"Sorry it has tae be so late Rich, but we're callin' a favor on ye."

"What kind?" Rick asked, rubbing eyes to try and stay awake.

"We're looking for this man..."  
James pulled out a small holoprojector and asctivated it, showing A/V comm footage of a brutish hybrid-breed feline recorded from Star Fox's last mission over Solar.  
"He's a pirate ringleader that goes by the alias 'Hack', and he's responsible for the Lady Vain disaster."

Richard Cooney stood dumbfounded for several seconds as he stared at the small holographic projection, then finally exhaled a tired sigh.  
"Look... Jim... I can understand you're upset about what happened, and that you'd want revenge for what he's done, but these interplanetary pirate types are _weeds._ If you cut him out, two more just like him are going to spring up in his place."

"This isn't about revenge, Rick..."  
The fox coolly shook his head, and replaced the holoprojector in his pocket.  
"He knows something, and it might even be of interest to you and the LCI folks."

The raccoon ran a hand over his brow, confused by Jame's confident assertion.  
"What could this 'Hack' possibly know that makes him so special?"

Scott answered the question in a single, grimly spoken word.  
"Cerinia."


	31. Game Changer

Author note:

It's been a while. I wish I could've updated sooner than this, but summer turned out to be a little more busy for me than I thought. It's a little different this time around; less action and more interaction. This chapter has much more of a Film Noir feel than some of the other more recent installments, maybe you'll see what I mean when you read it.

As always, your feedback is most welcome.

* * *

_**Game Changer**_

-Some Years Ago-

Carmen O'Donnell stepped out of the hotel room's steamy bathroom clothed in nothing but one of the plain white bath towels provided for the room, and her silver-gray fur still wasn't completely dry from the shower she just took. The hotel room itself was ordinary enough – queen-sized bed, vid-screen, chair and table, dresser – the usual modest accommodations. The window at the other end of the room opened out in the dense urban midst of downtown Wayland, Macbeth, where the gentle whir of the morning commute let all who heard it know the city was alive, and thriving...

On the end of the queen-sized bed sat Carmen's most consistent client, a wolf with a brilliant white fur tone who only identified himself as 'Kishu'. He was half-dressed in a pair of pants that'd just been put on, leaving his toned chest and back bare. He had his comm out, punching in a few commands into the device's touch screen.

Curious, Carmen sauntered across the hotel room behind Kishu, and caught a glimpse of a text message he was reading from his comm...

[Hawthorn Spaceport, meet at 8:20. Simeon.]

"Simeon..." Carmen voiced as she sat close next to Kishu, wrapping an arm around his unclothed waist, "Is that something for one of your jobs?"

"I'm not going to talk about it."  
The chalk-white wolf stashed the comm in his pants pocket, nearly flinching from the sudden intimacy imposed on him from Carmen.

"K?" She asked, caressing him down his chest past the blaster scar, "Something wrong?"

"No..." Kishu hesitated for a moment, and released a sigh, "It's just... I really can't discuss these things with you."  
He stood up from the bed and began to gather up his clothes, which were laying on the hotel room floor at his feet.

"Says who?"

"Says the guy hiring me." he replied, pulling on a plain black t-shirt.

"And since when does _that_ ever stop you from trusting me?"

"Never..."  
Kishu's head emerged from the shirt's collar, and found O'Donnell with hand folded over her chest and a skeptical glare from her eyes – still in nothing more than a towell.

"Then why can't you tell me who this Simeon guy is?"

He hesitated for a few moments as the dilemma drove the wolf to frustration, grinding his nerves against himself and by extension, against Carmen.  
"I am on a stick-up-my-ass tight schedule here, I should've been gone _thirty minutes_ ago. Maybe if I wasn't so screwed for time I could~"

Carmen closed in and laid a hand on Kishu's cheek, silencing her anxious lover with an affectionate kiss. She kept their lips connected long enough only to steady him, and released her hold after only a few drawn-out seconds.  
"I didn't mean to make you angry." she said as she drifted away from Kishu, barely above a breathy whisper, "You'd better do what you gotta do."

Before Carmen got too far, Kishu reached out and clasped her hand in his own, holding her at roughly arm's length when their eyes locked.  
"If it makes a difference, I can tell you all about Simeon next time I'm in Wayland, after the job's done."

They stayed motionless for a moment or two, each lost in the other's trusting eyes, until Carmen broke the steady silence between them.  
"Okay..." Carmen replied as they released each other's hands, "But don't make me wait too long now."

"I won't, I promise..."  
Kishu turned his back and headed toward the hotel room door.  
"It's time for me to go."

* * *

It's no secret that Sargasso accommodated more than a few illicit activities, the seedier types having been drawn to the station by its high traffic and comparatively lax customs policies. A successful free port along the often treacherous Fortuna-Titania route is almost certain to attract such company.

The docking concourse for Sargasso was bustling with the familiar traffic of arrivals, departures, and transfers. Most were hard-boiled spacer types, probably just stopping at the station for a quick and easy resupply before returning to their shipping route, or continuing salvage efforts in nearby Sector X. It wasn't the place where one would expect to find a mother and child, but there she was...

Walking toward one of the docking gates along the concourse, holding the hand of a young lupine child, was none other than Carmen O'Donnell. She'd booked one-way passage off the station for Macbeth, where she could raise Wolf a little more normally than here on Sargasso station.

It would've been so easy to walk up to her, just to say 'hi' and ask how she's doing, maybe try to make amends for everything he screwed up. But there was nothing he could do – not here, not now.

Just as Carmen and her son were preparing to board their flight off-station, another one of the docking gates was offloading its own load of passengers into the station's docking concourse. Among the arriving passengers, Kishu recognized the larger, hybridized feline features of one called 'Hack'.

"Our guy's stepping off now..."  
The wolf watched him, playing into his cover looking over the station directory.  
"Looks like he's trying pretty hard to stay inconspicuous."

* * *

"Sounds about right..."  
Rick Cooney was pacing through the dining area of Sargasso's Butcher Block diner. It was dark, empty, and the digitized sign out front said the place was closed. Rick slipped through the darkened establishment like a whispering shadow while he quietly responded over his miniature earpiece comm.  
"Tail him, make sure he heads straight to our location, and alert us if he deviates."

"_Right, I just hope this guy doesn't take-off running like that Domingo prick did."_

"He won't, he has no reason to..."  
The raccoon came to the secluded rear of the diner and opened up a door to the place's office.  
"All settled in back there Rache?"

Rachelle Cooney sat hunched over the office's desk terminal, staring into its display screen as her nimble hands danced over the system's antiquated keyboard.  
"I've got control over the joint's doors, lights and other integrated systems. We're good."  
The door to the office slid shut in front of Rick's face without any warning, almost jamming him in the doorframe.

_*Slam!*_

The raccoon stood calmly still for a few moments before he turned and headed toward one of the diner's many booth's.  
"I guess we've got a few minutes then..."

Rick sat down in the booth opposite James McCloud. The auburn fox was dressed in his preferred casual dress, complete with weathered leather jacket. He held his hands together on the table between them, staring at them as he resisted the urge to fidget. He was also taking his breaths slow and deep, trying to control each inhalation. Though he tried to hide it, James was tense, wound tight with anxiety and on verge of snapping.

"You doing alright Jim?" Rick asked quietly,

James glanced up to the raccoon with a pair of focused steel blue eyes, then reverted that focus back to his hands as he answered.  
"Yeah, I'm fine."

No he wasn't, not according to Rick's assessment.  
"If you'd rather not be here when he comes in~"

"I'm staying." James cut him off, spoken firmly and without shifting his gaze away from his clasped hands.

"Okay..."  
The raccoon gave a nod and leaned back in the boot's seat.  
"So Jim, how's this whole family thing working out for you?"

"What about it?" he replied, barely shifting from his tensely held position.

"You've been doing a lot since I was last in touch with you. It's like I turn my back to you for five minutes, and all of a sudden you're married and bringing up a kid..."  
"Sorry I missed out on the wedding and all. I would've liked to be there for it, but I was~"

"Working..." James interrupted, "You don't have to explain it."

"Yeah, working..."  
Rick rubbed the back of his head while his eyes wandered away somewhere distant, trying to forget for a moment what 'work' meant for him.

"But far as the family goes, I guess we're doing pretty good for ourselves..."  
James was finally starting to relax. His breath came easier, and his hands were free of each other while the fox carried on.  
"Sometimes it gets a little hectic, but it's definitely good. I don't think I told you, but Vixy's doing documentary work now – says it's like taking all the best qualities of honest news work and setting them up with the discipline of filmmaking. She couldn't be any happier with the direction her career is going."

"And what about your career?..."  
After Rick asked the question, he noticed James as cast his eyes down, tense up, and generally becoming uncomfortable in his own skin. In response, the raccoon altered the conversation's course back to easier territory.  
"I mean, with both you and Vixy working so hard, your kid must not be getting a whole lot of attention at home."

"We make it work." James replied with a clear release of tension, "Vix mostly gets a pretty steady workload, and I'm sort of the stay-at-home dad between jobs. But when we both have to be away, we'll usually leave Fox with Peppy's family or Vixy's parents."

Rick could see the vulpine pilot's nerves easing up as he became more animated in conversation. The raccoon gave a listening nod, and nudged the subject further along.  
"So what's it like Jim? Being a _real_ dad and all?"

"Geez, how do I start with something like this?"  
The fox looked off toward nothing in particular, giving his ear a thoughtful scratch while he tried to come up with a working answer.  
"I guess in a nutshell, having Fox around is like getting a brand new surprise every day. Sometimes it's a cute little picture he drew for me, and other times I find the wall completely scribbled over in crayon. But you'd know all about this stuff, you brought me up."

"Are you kidding?" Rick replied with a burst of laughter, "Rache and I were barely more than twice your age when we picked you up. The paperwork might call us 'Foster Parents', but we mostly treated you like our kid brother."

"And you still do." James responded with a roll of his eyes.

Rick just carried on as if he didn't hear the comment.  
"Besides, I am _way_ too young to be any kind of grandfather-type figure."

"So what _about_ you, Rick?" The fox asked, with his words powered by a keen, prying pressure behind them,"Why haven't you settled down with someone?"

"For one thing, I was already saddled with you." The raccoon answered, pointing a slender finger squarely into Jame's chest, "That, and on top of the work I do~"

"But are you saddled with me _now?_" James cut-off, not buying Rick's beating-around-the-bush.

The two of them stopped for a moment. Knowing the raccoon was at a loss for the time being, James McCloud crossed his arms with a cocky little smirk, waiting for his next move. Rick kept mostly still as he observed it through a pair of curious eyes, lined with black fur. The kid had grown-up, and wasn't afraid to put Rick on-ice...

The raccoon released an astonished chuckle, and gave in to Jame's persistance.  
"Alright... The last time I was out on a date, a _real_ date, it didn't go over all that well..." he started, with more than a few hints tied in, "So my date and I were getting all settled down for a dinner at this swanky little restaurant. We'd ordered our food and had some time to kill while we waited for it. She was rambling _on_ and _on_ about lord-only-knows what for the longest time, and then asks me a question out of nowhere, just to make sure was listening. Turned out, without even thinking about it, I spent all that time quietly observing and memorizing the actions of everyone else in the restaurant while she blabbed. I knew for example that one inconspicuous couple was casing the joint for a robbery, another poor sap was about to get fired by his boss who'd brought him there for dinner, and some of the kitchen staff were loading up on narcotics. But for all I'd figured out about everyone within fifty meters of me, I didn't have a _clue_ what my date was talking about..."  
The raccoon leaned back as he finnished, releasing a sigh full of awkward memories.  
"Needless to say, I never got a second date with her."

"Real smooth, Rick. Real smooth..."  
James shook his head, amused at how an expert covert intelligence agent could blow a date so easily.  
"Is Rache's luck any better?"

"I'll put it to you this way:" Rick began, "Rachelle hand coded a program a while back that she named 'Voodoo Doll', and set the little sucker loose in the mainframe of her latest ex-boyfriend's house."

The fox's eyebrows jumped up as he considered what exactly that meant.  
"Hell hath no fury, huh?"

"_That asshole got exactly what he deserved..." _Rachelle chimed inover the comm, _"Just be glad you two stooges aren't on my shit list."_

"And it's quite a long list by now." The raccoon scoffed back through the comm.

"_The ones you scare off don't count."_

"Well if _I'm_ not going to do proper background checks on the guys you see, who will?"

The playful atmosphere was interrupted by the tempered voice of Kishu on the group's comm channel.  
_"Sorry to break-up your little congeniality fest, but our guy's here waiting outside." _

James and Rick looked out toward the Butcher Block's entrance, and saw Hack's imposing figure standing patiently outside diner's closed doors. The sand-furred hybrid feline didn't at all appear anxious, but stood erect with his hands tucked into a pair of jacket pockets, like he was waiting for something as mundane as a bus.

Rick returned his attention to James across the table, and gave him a signaling nod. The vulpine pilot responded by standing up from the restaurant booth, and repositioning himself a few paces closer to the entrance. Once in place, the fox took a few preparatory breaths and loosened his nerves with a little arm flexing, similar to an athlete before competition.

James stopped, and focused on the task ahead.  
"Let's do this."

"Open us up." the raccoon directed over comm.

Within moments, the doors separating the diner's dimmed interior from the corridor outside parted. Hack strolled inside with a casual step, letting his carefree gaze wander all around the Butcher Block's empty dining area before finally finding James McCloud.

"I kind of hoped I'd run into you again sometime, but I never thought it'd be so soon." the feline mused as he massaged his neck and lower jaw.

"We had a deal." the fox responded flatly, "I let you get away, and you tell me about Cerinia."

"You called it off, I owe you nothing." Hack flung back with a scoff, "Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because you blew your operation with the Lady Vain..."  
Rick stood up to face the hybrid feline while he answered, firing his retorts to skewer and reel Hack's ego in like a harpoon of words.  
"You fell for a decoy and so made off with nothing to sell. You got your entire crew killed trying to fight back, and on top of that, you threw the harsh public spotlight onto pirate activity like yours. You have singlehandedly made life nothing short of miserable for anyone who'd consider hiring you. And now you have nowhere left to run."

The raccoon pinned Hack with a hardened vice-like glare that would've cracked diamond, and kept it there while he let the impact of his statements sink it. Yet the only reaction he got from Hack was a look of mildly intrigued curiosity, almost as if he was evaluating Rick like a painting in an art gallery.

After several empty seconds in the dimmed diner, the large sandy feline finally filled it.  
"I'm sorry, I don't think we've been introduced."

"You can call me Conley." the raccoon replied without any shift, physically or verbally.

"That was a _very_ impressive little speech there Mr. Conley, and would've made the staunchest thugs quake in their pants to hear it..."  
Hack turned away from Rick and James, and began to walk away toward the Butcher Block's front entrance.  
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with someone about a job."

Before he got two steps away, Rick stopped the hybrid feline with the blunt end of a question.  
"Is the secret you carry worth dying for?"

"Is that some kind of threat?" Hack replied over his shoulder.

"No, just an honest question." The raccoon answered as he closed the distance, "Because if you walk away now, I can personally guarantee that you'll be hunted down not only by Lylat Interpatrol and ordinary law enforcement, but also by bounty hunters, rival pirates, angry former employers, and anyone else who stands to gain from your absence..."  
He stepped back toward James, making sure Hack's falsely indifferent gaze followed him.  
"On the other hand, I might be able to find you a way out."

The fox complimented Rick's ultimatum with an impassive shrug.  
"Like I said: we had a deal."

Hack glanced back and forth between the other two while he considered the options paced before him. After a few uneventful moments, the sandy feline released an amused little chuckle as he stepped closer.  
"Yes I believe you're right." he began with an easy smile, taking his blatant reversal in perfect stride, "But first, since you aren't going to believe me otherwise, I'm going to show you two a little something special..."

"Show us what?" James asked, eyeing Hack with suspicion.

The hybrid feline came to a stop not more than a meter away from the other two. He took a deep, relaxing breath, closed his eyes, and relaxed into a trance-like hypnotic state. His breathing slowed almost to a complete stop, and his eyes began twitching wildly behind the closed eyelids. When Hack spoke again, it wasn't with his normal aloof swagger, but in a dry, toneless, and almost robotic stream of raw words.

"Your name is James McCloud. You were trained under the Fort Bierce program on Katina and served a tour of duty in the Cornerian Space Fleet before taking the mercenary route. You have a wife named Vixine Reinard who kept her maiden name after marriage, and who you like to call 'Vix'. The two of you have a son, a little boy about two and a half years old named Fox..."

Rick folded his arms across his chest, unimpressed with Hack's theatrics.  
"So you've done a little info digging, is that it?"

The sandy feline continued on like he hadn't heard anything, but his breathing started to pick up, and he raised one of his hands to his temple. To any onlooker, he would've looked like he was trying to remember some long forgotten memory, or solve a complex math problem in his head.  
"Your name isn't Conley, it's Cooney. You're an agent of Lylat Central Intelligence and you're doing this whole shtick as a favor for McCloud, you're his foster parent or something..."

"Stop that." the raccoon ordered.

Hack ignored him, but his state was intensifying. His breaths were coming quicker, his eyes were shifting faster, and even his steady hand began to have a few spasms.  
"You have a tech-wiz twin sister named Rachelle, she's in the back right now doing surveillance and listening to everything we say. You had me followed on my way here by some punk-ass lupine you dressed up..."

"I said _stop it._" Rick growled, his words grinding against each other like misaligned gears.

With his breath coming in great lung-filling heaves, eyes sealed shut, body trembling, and fur soaked in sweat, Hack kept the words running out of his snarling maw.  
"You lost part of your leg when someone tricked you. The guy told you he had information about McCloud's family, his birth parents, and lured you out to the Cornerian back-country where you almost~"

Hack jolted out of his delirium when an infuriated Rick ripped his hand away from his head and shouted to his face.  
"Where the hell did you get that information!"

The exhausted feline shook his head, eyes toward the floor, and provided an answer between gasps for breath.  
"No one."

"Who's the mole!" the raccoon snapped, giving hack a firm jerk.

"There isn't any mole~"

Cooney shoved Hack away staggering on his buckling legs, then drew his compact blaster handgun from its concealed under-arm holster. With a malevolent glare like a pair of burning needles, Rick armed the weapon and aimed it squarely at the fatigued feline's forehead.  
"You are going to tell me how you know all this, and you are going to tell me the straight truth."

Hack looked back at Cooney with a pair of tired and badly bloodshot eyes, completely devoid of his former carefree facade.  
"It's some kind of weired mind reading shit, I got the information from _you._"

Rick closed in, and pressed the muzzle of his blaster between the wearied felines eyes.  
"Don't you _dare_ try that game with me."

Though tired and visibly wracked, Hack returned the threat of death with a solid and carefully assembled composure.  
"I don't like it any more than you do, but that's the truth, and I said you wouldn't believe it."

The two shadowy figures stood there in the darkened dining floor between a row of booths and empty tables, barely an arm's length apart, each staring firmly through the other's eyes. The silence between was punctuated only by Rick's sharply pumped breaths, by Hack's own weary sighs, and after a few seconds by the footsteps of a third.

James McCloud stepped in alongside Cooney, shooting the raccoon a vaguely worried glance. Rick's hostile glare flickered a moment, and faded down as he replaced his compact handgun in the concealed holster under his arm. Though he'd never admit it, the older raccoon knew he crossed a line.

"Does what you did have anything to do with Cerinia?" James asked Hack, redirecting his attention to the recovering hybrid feline.

Hack nodded slowly as he placed a hand against his forehead, and provided his explanation.  
"Look up the name 'Earl Hackman' on any intelligence or law enforcement database, it'll tell you he's been dead for several years, after being locked away in Mt. Khali for about eight months. That prison is where the Cerinia Institute gets test subjects for their most securely classified research..."  
He feline found an empty chair around one of the nearby tables, and plopped down in it just before he finished up.  
"_I_ am Earl Hackman, also known as Subject 186.03, and I was one of those test subjects."

Rick took a seat at that same table opposite Hack, with more than a little skepticism hanging.  
"Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, 'Mr. Hackman'."

The sandy feline rolled his bloodshot eyes as he growled out a frustrated sigh.  
"I just peeped in your mind and dug up some of your deepest darkest secrets. How much more 'extraordinary evidence' are you going to need?"

"Reading a mind is easy..." the raccoon retorted easily, "You don't have to be psychic, you just have to be clever."

"I don't care how clever you think you are. Whatever those goddamn eggheads did to me, it's for fucking real!..."  
Hack stopped short. A few dark drops of blood dribbled onto the table, which came from the hybrid feline's bleeding nose. Annoyed, he ripped a napkin from the dispenser on the table and jammed it against the sudden nosebleed.  
"And it sure as hell isn't easy."

"How can I possibly know you're telling the truth?" Rick asked, drumming his slender fingers patiently against the tabletop.

"Okay. Alright. If you want the whole truth of it so badly, maybe you should just go out there and get it yourself..."  
The great hybrid feline paused, interrupted by a bout of deep, chesty coughs that were likely related to his abnormal nosebleed.  
"I'm probably not even the best guy to talk to about all this funky stuff."

"Can you give me a name?" Rick inquired, pouncing on the opportunity.

"You of all people would know that information is a commodity," Hack replied with an alert glint in his recovering eyes, "and I expect fair compensation for mine."

The raccoon brought his hands together in front of him, examining the feline across from him with an assessing eye.  
"What exactly are you trying to get out of this?"

"Work..."  
Hack took the bloodied napkin away from his nose, checking if the bleeding had stopped yet.  
"You said it yourself, I'm way too hot to be hired in my usual circle right now, and I wouldn't mind busting a few heads over mine being messed with. Plus, I know how to get out to Cerinia and back quietly and easily."

The two shadowy figures stared each other down again across the table, with James standing silently by. Cooney hadn't shifted from his steady stance, and Hack was returning to his lofty carefree confidence. The air between them was tense, but with the quiet tension of calculation as both evaluated the other,

After several drawn-out seconds, Rick finally replied to the proposition with a disapproving shake of his head.  
"I can't trust you."

"I don't expect you to." Hack bounced back.

"You could torpedo a delicate operation like this at any moment." The raccoon explained.

"Which is why you'd have me watched at all times."

"I can get other people to do it."

"None of them have seen what I've seen or know what I know." Hack countered, "I'm far too valuable an asset to pass-up."

They were haggling. The products and prices were vague, as both would have to be paid later if the deal were made, but the rapid exchange between them was unmistakably the process of bargaining. It'd only be a matter of time before a deal was struck.

"Fine..."  
Rick removed a pen and a small sheet of paper from a coat pocket. It contained printed text of what appeared to be an indecipherable jumble of letters that didn't form any words. The raccoon signed the bottom margin of the text, and handed it across the table to Hack.  
"Take this to the 'punk-ass lupine' outside that I had following you, only he knows how to decode the message. It contains instructions for him to lead you directly to a safe house. Wait for me there, and we'll discuss all this in greater detail and safety. If there's even the slightest deviation on your part, the deal is off, and you'll be on your own."

"You don't leave me with much of a choice, do you?" The sandy feline stated, glancing over the encrypted message in his hand.

"You can choose to follow my instructions and save your sorry ass, or you can choose to take your chances against some of Lylat's finest." Rick responded as he replaced the pen in his pocket, "The choice is yours."

Hack stood up with a satisfied smile drawn across his face, rising back up to Jame's level.  
"Smart move, McCloud..." he commended to the fox as he passed by, "Send my regards to your wife, eh?"

An annoyed grimace shot across Jame's face at the pirate's mock courtesy. What gives him the right to talk about Vixy so casually? What would she think if she knew what her husband was really up to? There was a little comm chatter between Rick, Rachelle and Mack about some details, but James ignored it – none of it involved him. He simply remained still and quiet while he watched a ruthless killer stroll casually down Sargasso Station's corridors.

* * *

_If justice be disregarded, what are states but large bandit bands, and what are bandit bands but small states?_

-Saint Augustine-


	32. Zwischenzug

Author Note:

I would like to apologize to everyone, especially the readers who really enjoy this story. I believe this is the longest I've yet gone without an update, and the only reason I can offer is that I've had a painfully slow couple of months. For some reason it took me the longest time to finally figure out what I was going to do with this chapter, but at long last, it is finally here.

As always, your feedback is most welcome.

* * *

_**Zwischenzug**_

An elderly hare with muddled brown fur sat alone in a dully pleasant park, leaning in over one side of a molded concrete chess table. The pieces were all set up in their starting positions, but the lone player was left without an opponent, and simply spent his moments gazing thoughtfully over the neatly arranged opposing formations. Though the hare's eyes never left the chessboard, his sight was quietly observing his immediate surroundings.

A group of younger children, mostly canid varieties, were making good use of the nearby playground, with the parents guarding from a distance. A blissful avian couple strolled lazily along the gently swerving path, hand in tender loving hand. Yet amidst this idyllic park scene was one single anomaly: a cloudy figure clothed in gray, and striding across the asphalt pathway burdened by some silent purpose...

* * *

It was a fairly typical urban coffeehouse, during a fairly typical weekend afternoon. The hustle and bustle of the busy streets outside intermingled with quiet music and idle chatter inside, where a number of patrons of varying species went about their business. Some didn't stay, some brought notebook computers with them, and some simply sat alone with their beverage of choice. But at least two individuals shared one of the coffeehouse's modest tables, each with a steaming cup of coffee in front of them.

One was a raccoon, wearing an unremarkable outfit of denim jeans and hoodie sweatshirt. He was young, but well past the fledgling age of youth.  
"So umm, you're going to train me to be a spy?" he asked.

"Yep."  
The other directly across the table was a rugged mid-aged hare with a dull brown fur tone, dressed in a heavy plaid patterned flannel shirt.

"That means I'd be working for Lylat Central Intelligence, a covert system-wide Intelligence agency, doing what exactly?"

"Whatever needs doing."

The young raccoon paused a moment, staring at nothing in particular.  
"I was hoping for something a little more specific."

"Then let me break it down for you, Ricky." the older hare began, "Lylat is _full_ of people: thinking people, passionate people, clever people, quiet people, ambitious people, downright _brilliant_ people, and butt-fuck _stupid_ people. Our job in Central Intelligence, our main overarching mission, is to protect them."

"Even the stupid people?" Rick asked before taking a swill of his coffee.

"Especially the stupid people." The hare replied flatly.

The raccoon paused again with curious thought before moving on.  
"Well, what are they being protecting from?"

"What's the biggest problems folks have these days?"

"Hell I don't know Pete, the economy? Crime? War? Petty politics?" Rick supplied, grasping for straws.

"No, those are mostly symptoms." Pete responded with a shaking head, "What's the underlying _cause_ of all that public angst?"

"Fear, ignorance, greed, anger..."

The hare stopped Rick's response before he could list off anymore.  
"Those are all emotions, but you're on the right track Ricky. What is it that emotions require? Think hard about this one now."

The raccoon released a sigh and leaned his head against a hand, glaring into coffee drink for several seconds, until an answer clicked into place.  
"Emotions require someone to feel them – people."

"Now you're seeing the vicious cycle we live in." Pete replied with an approving smile, "The biggest threat to the peoples of Lylat isn't an abstract concept like war, or the economy, or the wrath of an angry deity, or some outlandish plot device dreamed-up for a story. No, the biggest threat by far is the decisions and actions of other people, because people and the circumstances they find themselves in are never perfect. This goes for everyone, from the nice young lady over there who served us our coffee, to you and me, and all the way up to the President of the Lylat Union."

"So what're we doing here? Ridding the Lylat System of evil?" Rick asked, half-joking.

The older hare's reaction was far less jovial. His demeanor became cold and stony at the table, reflected in the grim inflection of his words.  
"There are many necessary evils that have to be endured, and well-meaning goods that get thrown wildly out of hand. A governing body, or any organization really, is supposed to sort out which is which and then make decisions accordingly. Our politicians, while potentially very powerful in this respect, are often in an awkward position to make the more grisly decisions. Sometimes they and the people they're supposed to represent are better off not knowing at all."

"And that's where you come in."

"That's where we come in."

Rick nodded in thoughtful understanding, taking a moment before moving on.  
"Okay, but that still doesn't tell me what my duties as an agent would be."

"I said you'd do whatever needs doing, and there's a reason the public and many politicians are better off not knowing exactly what that means."

"Well if I'm going to be an agent, that means I'm neither politician nor public, so exactly what _does_ it mean?" The raccoon asked, just beginning to lose his patience.

Pete took a long, preparatory drink of his own coffee before beginning his elaborate answer.  
"Agencies like LCI exist because _someone _has to know the horrible ugly truths, and make the horrible ugly choices that others just don't have the stomach for. As a part of this agency, if you have to lie, cheat, steal, or otherwise disregard the established laws and morals for an operation, you're expected to do so. If you have to liaise and cooperate with individuals or institutions known to be corrupt, malevolent or otherwise twisted, you're expected to do so. If you have to _completely_ destroy another person's life in order to keep a vital operation active, you are expected to do exactly that."

Rick glanced anxiously around the coffeehouse, massaging the back of his neck as he did.  
"Does that mean I'd be expected to lay down my life for this hazy 'greater cause' thing?"

"Worse" The hare answered with a quick shake of his head, "You'll have to decide what is and what isn't worth laying down the lives of others for, and who's life to lay down when that moment finally comes..."  
Pete stopped a moment, taking another swill from his gradually cooling coffee.  
"We're not soldiers, and don't you go pretending to be one either. Soldiers are relatively expendable – another grunt is easy enough to come by – but a successful agent, with solid connections throughout Lylat's major power-players and trusted contacts that can act on his or her behalf, is irreplaceable. There are virtually _no_ circumstances under which you'd sacrifice the queen where a pawn or another piece on the board can do the job instead."

"Wait – pieces, pawns, major power-players?" the younger raccoon asked with some surprise, "You make it sound like this whole espionage deal is some sort of a game."

"For all intents and purposes, that's exactly what it is." Pete replied with a shrug, "Imagine for a second, a game of chess mashed-up with a game of poker. You can't see the whole game board most of the time, or all the players at the table. Its not always clear who's side some of the pieces are on, and they'll even switch sides on you if you're not careful..."  
A knowing gleam flashed across the older hare's eyes, accompanied by sharp smirk.  
"Thing is, Lylat Central Intelligence is just one of several players in this deadly game of secrets."

"Then who else is at the table?" Rick asked, leaning in with interest.

"There's a whole _bunch_ of them, but off the top of my head: you've got a whole network of organized crime shticks; there's narcotics, arms, and other cartels for assorted contraband; various Intelligence/Counterintelligence components of planetary governments and militaries; many politically motivated militias, freedom fighters, terrorists and similar groups; as well as several business tycoons and prominent industrialists who can afford to do things their own way. All around them are pools of thieves, pirates, smugglers, mercenaries, bounty hunters and other disposable forms of help-for-hire, each with varying levels of skill, quality, and discretion. Sometimes elements of 'the help' will even form loose factions of their own and sit-in alongside the big players – highly skilled thieves for example are notorious for grouping together like that..."  
Pete puffed out a sigh of relief, and finished off his coffee before continuing on.  
"Other players come and go with the times, but something like what I just rambled at you is the usual lineup we see."

Rick had been nursing his own coffee drink, and was almost to the bottom by the time Pete was done.  
"I guess that means I'd be dealing with these other 'players' as an agent, right?"

The older hare supplied his answer with a nod, and further elaborated on the subject.  
"One of the many duties of an agent is to meet, greet, and schmooze with these players under the table in order to gain access to their information, resources, personnel, and even turn them against other opponents. Another related duty is to root out opposing players who try to take advantage of this agency in similar ways. Clearly there's going to be a bit of creativity involved in this line of work."

"So lying cheating and stealing then?" The raccoon asked.

"If that's what you gotta do..." Pete shrugged, trailing off. "Like I said, you'd be doing whatever needs doing."

"Or find someone else to do it who can." the raccoon responded, understanding the dynamics described.

"Try not to think about it too hard Ricky, at least not yet. For now, you've been sponsored for enrollment in the Fort Bierce program, with a focus in bodyguard and VIP protection..."  
The hare produced a folded brochure from his shirt's breast pocket, and handed it across the table.  
"You start basic training next month."

"I do?" Rick asked, taking the pamphlet, "Since when?"

While the surprised raccoon was leafing through the Fort Bierce brochure, Pete offered him his own explanation.  
"The program we've got you slated for teaches a good range of basic skills you'll need: combat training, situational awareness, tactical planing, reading people and other such whatnot – plus it sets you straight up for your cover. On top of all that, I'll also be personally instructing you in practical Intelligence/Counterintelligence tradecraft."

"But, what if I'd rather not do any of this?" Rick asked, setting the pamphlet down on the table, "What if I just want to go back home?"

"That's fine, I'm not forcing you to do anything. You're welcome to live out a quiet and ordinary life as a regular citizen, watching from the sidelines as the world slowly shifts around you, helpless to change much of anything about it..."  
The older hare stood up and prepared to leave, giving his companion a few last words.  
"I've shown you the door Ricky, it's up to you whether you're gonna step through it or not."  
And with that, Pete turned an strolled casually out of the coffeehouse, leaving Rick alone at their table.

That was then...

* * *

This is now...

As he drew closer, the clouded figure could be made out as a raccoon, apparently at the cusp of middle age. He wore a discreet gray knee-length coat over casual attire, and hid his eyes from the world behind a pair of dark, wire framed sunglasses.  
"Mind if I join you?" Rick asked, "Looks like you could use another player."

Pete gestured toward the empty seat opposite him, and waited until the raccoon sat down before speaking.  
"Let's skip the act, Ricky." he began gruffly, "What the hell kind of shit did you step in that you rung me up for?"

Rick removed his sunglasses, and offered them to across the chess table.  
"Yours."

The raccoon's unveiled eyes had Pete pinned to his seat with a solid, unwavering certainty matched in his voice. The elder hare shifted his puzzled gaze to the sunglasses in Cooney's hand, and recognized the eyewear as a concealed A/V record-and-playback headset that highly Rick favored. Pete reached out and accepted the sunglasses with a silent acknowledgment, then placed them over his own eyes before playing the cued video file.

An image faded onto the lenses showing what looked like security footage from inside a mostly empty restaurant. There were three figures standing in the center: one that Pete recognized as Rick, another who was James McClud, but the third and speaking feline was an unknown._  
"Look up the name 'Earl Hackman' on any intelligence or law enforcement database, it'll tell you he's been dead for several years, after being locked away in Mt. Khali for about eight months. That prison is where the Cerinia Institute gets test subjects for their most securely classified research. __I am Earl Hackman, also known as Subject 186.03, and I was one of those test subjects._"

"Oh, _damn..._"  
Pete took off the headset sunglasses with an exasperated sigh.  
"I should've known you'd do something like this. You just can't _ever_ leave well enough alone, can you?"  
He offered the raccoon his unique eyewear back.

"I'll level with you Pete, I came here because I need your help."  
Rick took them, and placed the sunglasses in a jacket pocket.

"And what makes you think I 'd help you?"  
The elder hare's hand moved to a piece on the chessboard -a pawn- and moved it forward to begin the game.

"What made you sacrifice your career in Central Intelligence to save mine?" the raccoon responded as he moved a pawn of his own, "You had clear-cut deniability from my actions when I decided to go sleuth about the Sector-X incident. You could've easily cut me off and had the rogue agent erased as per the usual LCI policy, but you took full responsibility for my actions. You claimed that I was simply acting under your orders. Why?"

"Let's be fair Ricky, I let you do that stunt..."  
Pete advanced a bishop out beyond the line of pawns through the gap made during his first move.  
"I may not have ordered it, but I did approve it, and an agent's handler takes responsibility for the actions performed down the chain of command~"

"You approved it under the assumption that I'd hit a dead-end and drop it. It wasn't until _after_ I'd dug up a solid lead – a lead that would've led me straight to Cerinia – that you slammed the door in my face and shot yourself in the foot..."  
Rick advanced a knight over the line of pawns, taking a position in the kingside rook's file.  
"So the question still stands: why did you do it?"

"I like you Ricky, is that so hard to believe?..."  
The hare moved his queen forward through the same gap the bishop used earlier.  
"You started off as this timid little pencilneck with a gambling problem, and I watched you grow into one of the best god-damned agents I've ever seen. You know it takes more than raw skill to make it in Intelligence, you gotta have a sharp mind and sharper instincts to dodge the all crossfire and booby traps. But sometimes you're just too curious for your own good – you reach that hand of yours out far enough and you're liable to get it cut off. I underestimated your ingenuity, or your luck, or some crazy combination of the two that landed you with... What's that jackass's name? Kevin? Kyle?"

"Kishu, Makita Kishu..."  
The raccoon advanced another of his pawns forward.  
"I know it's a weird name, we just call him 'Mack'."

"Whatever it is, you were about to open up a nasty-ass can of worms between Mt. Khali and the Cerinia Institute, and I didn't want you to get sucked into all that mess. I didn't want to see you destroy yourself trying to juggle something way beyond you..."  
In a bold maneuver, Pete advanced his free bishop across the board to capture a very specific pawn.  
"Checkmate."

Though Pete's bishop was apparently alone and directly up against the black king, the checking piece was covered by the white queen from across the board. Rick's king was completely boxed into its starting position, unable to move out of check from the white bishop.

"Scholar's mate?"

Pete nodded.  
"Something like it."

Rather than submit to a quick defeat, Rick used the knight he advanced earlier to capture the white bishop, and so break the checkmate.  
"You know that trick only works against rookie players, right?"

"It was worth a shot..."  
The elder hare shrugged indifferently, moving another pawn forward for a more conventional opening.

"I hate to break it to you, but that nasty-ass can of worms you mentioned just got tossed in my face..."  
As the mid-aged raccoon continued, his eyes glanced across his array of pieces on the chessboard while he considered his next move.  
"Hackman goes on to name a Doctor Beverly Finch as the lead for a secret research program in the Cerinia Institute, and that he managed to escape from it. Scott tells me he worked with this exact same Beverly Finch almost twenty years ago on Sauria, and that some awfully bizarre things happened during that job – things I would never have believed until just recently."  
For the moment, Rick settled on advancing a third pawn into a steady opening formation.  
"Clearly I'm about to step into some sort of shit storm, and I'd really like to know which way the wind's blowing out there. All the available evidence suggests that know a thing or two about all this."

In Pete's next move, he shifted his white queen left into a more defensive position behind the first pawn he advanced.  
"Have you told anyone else what you just told me? Does anyone in the Agency know you have that info?"

"I used only my own resources, nobody else knows..."  
Richard Cooney looked up from the chess game for a moment, pinning his opponent to his seat with the steady gaze of certainty.  
"So are you going to help me? Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on out there?..." without shifting his gaze in the slightest, he moved his other knight forward to join the growing formation of pawns. "Or are you not?"

After Rick made his move, the elderly hare matched his icy stare with a near-glare of his own.  
"Before I tell you anything Ricky, I'm gonna need you to understand just how high the stakes are in the game you'd be joining..."  
Pete broke the ocular standoff with Cooney, and considered the next move in the chess game before him.  
"Do you remember how the Titania-Fortuna conflict was finally resolved?"

"Yeah." the raccoon answered, "It ended up being one of the most awkward military stalemates in recent history..."

* * *

The silent tension amidst the command crew was almost tangible on the bridge of the FSV Vajra, the flagship of the Fortuna space fleet. Against the star-speckled emptiness of interplanetary space beyond, the main forward viewport on the bridge showed only a few nearby cruisers poised to act. In the center of the mighty Vajra's bridge was a holographic tactical display, where Fleet Admiral Rajul Khiang stood quietly with an alert eye as he attempted to solve his latest tactical puzzle...

Khiang himself was slender, keen-eyed equine with a cleanly contrasting fur pattern of cream and cinnamon brown. He was dressed in a basic naval working uniform, with only his stitched rank insignia to identify him as Fleet Admiral – commander of the largest concentration of Fortuna's military power. The tactical display before him showed the admiral a tight collection of fortified space stations protected by a massed fleet clustered nearby in a defensive formation, which included the Vajra. At the opposite end of the display, a hostile fleet of comparable numbers closed in toward the stations, and on a suspiciously straightforward attack trajectory...

Upon first glance, the hostile formation appeared to be an ordinary battering-ram, with the largest and most powerful vessel in fleet -Admiral Hakim's Markhor- spearheading a column of swifter battlecruisers, frigates and destroyers. It was a gambit designed to draw as much fire toward the great hulking battleship while the rest of the fleet swarmed the distracted opposition. Yet there was something amiss about it all, and Fleet Admiral Rajul Khiang knew it. It was never a simple battle-plan against Titanian strike fleets, especially when they were commanded by Admiral Saleh Hakim. The sly commander would always find some irritating new way to draw out the Fortunan task force's strongest units, only to feint away and strike from some unconventional position, sometimes doubling back again when his targets got wise to his ruse. With this latest 'bold act', Hakim was no doubt trying to provoke Khiang into a direct, by-the-book counterattack, and thus leave a flank open for pestering hit-and-run strikes, or possibly something worse...

"What _are_ you playing at this time, Hakim?" Rajul asked quietly to himself, scraping his fingers against his lowered chin.

No matter. Against the likes of Saleh Hakim, the best defense was almost always one of steadfast, unfaltering patience, that way he'd make the first move and thus the first mistake. Sure enough, the hostile Titanian fleet, as shown to Fleet Admiral Khiang on the holographic tactical display, gradually slowed to a stop just beyond the defenders' effective striking range.

Or so most would usually believe...

Khiang stepped away from the tactical display and toward the front of the bridge, passing several anxious members of the bridge crew before singling one out one of them.  
"Gunnery Chief Nayak..."

Responding to his name and title, a bright green chisel-beaked parakeet swiveled around in his chair toward Khiang.  
"Yes sir, what can I do for you sir?"

"I find myself curious about some of our new hardware." the equine admiral began, "In particular, I'd like to know just how much punch you can pump out of that new Terawatt railgun cannon mounted to the forward battery."

"_That_ giant-slayer?"  
Nayak paused a moment, his head swaying side to side as he considered what Khiang had just proposed.  
"Well... if I exceeded the gun's recommended ampere levels by about 15%, I could probably fling a 25-kilo slug straight through the Markhor's shields and into her bridge if that's what you had in-mind – Fortuna knows she deserves it. But to do it, I'd need a lot of spare time and spare juice to charge these thirsty capacitor banks for the shot."

"How long do you need?" Khiang asked, leaning in over the Gunnery Chief's bridge-terminal.

"Using all available consumable power under battle-stations conditions, and with no weapons firing or other major power drains..." The avian officer clicked his chisel-like beak thoughtfully while he ran the numbers through his head. "About fifteen minutes."

"Then your fifteen minutes starts now. Fire it up, Chief..."

"Yes sir, right away sir."  
Nayak wheeled his chair back around and began the firing sequence as per his orders.

"Patch me into a fleet-wide channel for general announcement..."  
Once the communication officer executed the orders, Fleet Admiral Rajul Khiang began a hearty speech, striding confidently up and down the Vajra's bridge as he did.  
"I, and most all Fortuna if I'm not mistaken, have had just about enough of Saleh Hakim and his antics to last a hundred generations. With this one mighty blow, we shall send Hakim and his people a clear message to the tune of _terajoules_ worth of raw kinetic energy that will pierce this campaign's twisted heart of nonsense~"

"Sir..."  
The equine admiral was cut short by a steady feminine voice belonging the Vajra's sensory officer, a small black-scaled lizard with a pair of stark red stripes running along his head.  
"I don't mean to interrupt but... the enemy vessels are all powering down."

"Powering down?"

The reptilian woman quickly filled in as many details as she could, never looking away from the terminal display before her.  
"Sensory, shields, weapons, communications, life support... They're even shutting down their power plants, and that includes the emergency backup systems."

"Why would they do something like that?" Gunnery Chief Nayak asked, "It leaves them totally ope~"

"It's a trick." Khiang cut the avian officer off, "It has to be some sort of deception."

"I've got something." the sensory officer began, hinting at some uncertainty, "I'm reading some awfully strange GEM fluctuations out there. It almost looks like a..." she stopped short, shaking her head "No that can't be right at all, it's impossible, the instruments must be malfunctioning."

"What's 'impossible'?" The equine admiral demanded.

"If the instruments are telling me right, then right between our fleet and Hakim's is a gigantic degenerate matter reaction induced by false-gravity. But the sheer scale I'm reading it at shouldn't even be possible – it's as if a little neutron star just popped up out of nowhere, but without a star..."

As if in response, a new light began to shine outside the bridge's main viewport; a bright little spark in the darkness that grew ever brighter with more time. Soon enough, a corresponding point also materialized on the holographic tactical display, labeled only with '?'. The mysterious light continued to shine brighter and even brighter, until the glare nearly blinded the Vajra's awestruck bridge crew...

And then it was gone.

The bright light itself winked out completely, revealing a bright lance of light that struck the nearest Fortunan cruiser, and obliterated the vessel with a titanic explosion. The bolt jumped to the next cruiser, and popped it again in the same way as the last, ripping through the warship like tissue paper. The devastating arcs appeared almost like lightning, or the tendrils of a plasma lamp, but which destroyed everything it touched. The tactical display showed Khiang's fleet gradually disappearing one or two vessel at a time in frighteningly rapid succession, fading fast as the arcs leapt from ship to doomed ship...

Rajul Khiang whipped away from the display to his dumbstruck crew.  
"Shields! Dammit!" the admiral roared, "Boost the~"

He never finished that sentence.

* * *

Peter Cotton and Richard Cooney were still at opposite sides of a table in the same park, and in the middle of a quickly developing game of chess between them. The elderly hare had yet to make his next move.

"...The arms race and constant conflict between the two worlds finally culminated in Titania's Aether Project – a bomb, one gigantic bomb that was supposed to target only active magnetic fields and electric currents. Khiang's fleet was wiped out almost instantly, but nobody knows for sure what happened to Hakim's fleet. Many physicists I've asked think they tore themselves apart trying to jump out of the highly ionized 'fallout', others think the crew suffocated aboard their ships when they couldn't reengage their life support systems. One thing they agree on is that the ionized particle cloud should have dissipated a long time ago, but it lingers even years later."  
Rick looked up from the game for a moment, toward the playground where the canid children continued their ruckus, oblivious to the hardships they'd later have to face in life. Jim's kid was almost that age...  
"I can't even begin to imagine what'd happen if that bomb was detonated over a populated planet."

"The tech used for the Aether Project came straight out of the Cerinia Institute..."  
Back in the chess game, Pete finally decided to advance his other bishop forward to join his pawn formation.  
"A while ago Cerinia was trying to develop some new kind of power plant, I don't know the physics of it too well, but they couldn't get a stable reaction out of it. The project was later cut, and some of the scientists went back to Titania to continue work converting that failed power source into the devastating weapon that made Sector-X the hazard it is today."

The raccoon casually shifted another piece around the board during his turn, apparently not paying much attention to the game.  
"Come to think of it, there are a lot of similarities between Sector-X and what Scott encountered on Sauria..."

"And _that's_ why I brought it up – they're related you see..."  
The elderly hare couldn't take his eyes off the board for a moment, even after he hurriedly repositioned a knight forward into the fray.  
"The Cerinia Institute is supposed to be this cooperative flagship project for Union Congress, something to take the peoples' minds off ripping one another's throats out, plus its remote location discourages almost all industrial espionage. But those popular explanations aside, the biggest reason the Cerinia Institute is flung all the way out there is because they've found some crazy shit going on in that system that the public at large is just not ready to know about yet. That fucking bomb is just one example, the foul-up with Harrison and Finch you found out is another, and this little stint with Hackman is more... the list just keeps on going and going."

"And what about these prisoners as live test subjects?" Rick asked with an easy shrug, "Is that another secret best kept from the public?"

Pete seemed fidgety in his seat as he closely examined the game board and scratched an ear.  
"I know it sounds totally unethical; and it is, that's why it's secret; but think about it for a minute. Do you have any idea how high the average upkeep cost is for an inmate serving a life-sentence?"

"Oh, I read about this somewhere..." Cooney paused with a thought, and moved a piece to capture his opponent's exposed pawns, "It's a lot, isn't it?"

"It's over a _Billion_ credits apiece. That's a huge pile of money for one single individual that ain't ever going back into society..."  
The old muddy furred hare's hand drifted over his pieces as he spoke, sometimes stopping over one for a second before moving on again.  
"The experiments run by Finch's department, which your friend Hackman was nice enough to snitch for, are extremely dangerous – people _die_ from them. You can't ask for volunteers to lay down their life that way, and nobody's about to snatch-up innocent bystanders anytime soon. But if you let the scientists do their thing on prisoners serving life-sentences, everyone wins. Responsible researchers can learn about these newfangled phenomena so someone less legitimate doesn't have to; the prison system gets a load taken off its back; and despite being clapped with life-sentences for their crimes, these prisoners do in-fact contribute to society..."  
In a bold move, Pete used his last remaining bishop to capture one of hos opponent's black knights.  
"Okay now Ricky, I've just spilled my guts all over you about this Cerinia deal, now is there something else you wanted from me?"

"Hackman is up to something."

"Oh yeah?"

Rick sent his other knight to capture the last white bishop.  
"He was way too ready to return to Cerinia, the very place he was experimented on. The instant he found out I was LCI, he wanted to help me set up an operation to get back there. I suspect he has other motives besides 'revenge' as he tells me – he's too smart to be that outwardly petty and basal."

"He knows you're with the Agency?..."  
Pete stopped, and finally looked up from the chessboard with a worried squint.  
"How?"

"He... you know what Cerinia is all about... he read my mind, okay?"  
The raccoon leaned away sigh and shake of the head, seeming truly anxious for the first time in a long while.  
"This whole Cerinia thing is obviously a huge touchy subject, and I _need_ to be aware of all the angles at play. If Hackman is working for someone or some organization toward some other end, I _need_ to know who on the playing field I can trust, so I can figure out how best to handle this threat."

"Big ol' pussycat's giving off _that_ vibe? Hmm..."  
The wizened hare returned his gaze to the chessboard, but the spinning flywheels of his eyes were clearly thinking about more than the game in front of him.  
"Who's the new Director these days? I heard Goldwyn stepped down not too long ago."

"Isabelle Hawking."

"That snooty bitch?" Pete balked, moving one of his knights forward.

Rick shrugged, and scooted his queen a couple squares to one side.  
"She wasn't exactly _my_ first choice either."

"As snooty a bitch as she is, Hawking's too practical to let an opportunity like this pass..."  
The hare moved the knight forward again, threatening a number of pieces in his opponent's pawn formation.  
"Tell her about Hackman, tell her your suspicions, and I'd bet my pension she'll want you to play along with this pussycat for a while – string him along until he makes his motives clearer."

"That way we can trace his connections back to the mystery employer." the raccoon supplied.

"It's the sensible thing to, even if there isn't a~"

Rick rocketed his queen all the way across the board, wedging the piece between the white king and kingside knight. Pete's king had no safe squares to move into, and no immediate means to dispatch the black queen.  
"Checkmate."

"Son of a~"

"It's been good to see you again Pete." The raccoon cut him off again as he stood up from the game, "I hope retirement isn't treating you too badly."

"For the love of Lylat..." Pete began in a grumbling tone, either due to the loss or Rick's gung-ho mentality, "you'd better not fuck this up."

"I wasn't planning on it."  
Rick slipped the 'sunglasses' out of his jacket pocket and replaced them over his eyes. In another moment he was quietly strolling along the park's winding gravel pathway, just another stranger amidst the people.

The elderly brown hare tore his gaze away with a sigh and shaking head, and began to reset the chess pieces back into their starting positions once more...

* * *

_"Zwischenzug" (German for "intermediate move") is a common chess tactic which, instead of countering a direct threat, a move is played which poses an even more devastating threat, often an attack against the queen or the king. The opponent has to counter that threat first, and this will ideally change the situation to a disadvantage for that player._


	33. Something Found

Author note:  
I got this one out a little quicker this time, mostly because this chapter was already about 1/3 done when I decided I'd rather get the previous chapter out. Clever readers will notice at least one allusion (possibly more) to a much earlier chapter in this story. And I finally get to bring back a few characters we haven't seen in a while (but not all of them, yet)...

As always, I welcome your feedback.

* * *

_**Something Found**_

"_Incoming call, Audio/Visual." _the digital voice spoke throughout the house with mechanical indifference. _"ID: Space Dynamics Company."_

Vixy Reinard McCloud sat behind a desktop computer terminal in the home office, a steaming mug of sweetened black coffee in her hand filling the room with a warm, bittersweet aroma. The copper-furred vixen herself was dressed casually in a pair of form-fitting jeans that exposed a few inches of ankle, and sweater made with a thin comfortable material over her top. The terminal's display had the network browser open, showing a discussion forum site of which the main topics were centered around Audio-Visual media production.

"Put it through the office terminal, both audio and visual." she instructed, returning her attention to the terminal display screen while her orders processed.

Aside from the desk and terminal, the room also had many amenities expected of the home office, like a workspace that'd seen its fair share of use, shelves and drawers to hold hard documents – the usual. The home office was also where the home mainframe was located, occupying a discreet corner of the room stacked up within its inconspicuous casing. Nearly every home, and every building for that matter, had a system like it in place that integrated most aspects of the building including power consumption, heating and air conditioning, lighting, plumbing, security, as well as internal and external communications. The last aspect allowed a personal communication channel to be automatically rerouted through the home mainframe and onto the desktop terminal in front of Vixy.

Within moments, a new window opened on the terminal display screen showing the squat olive green face of a toad.  
"Ah, you're there, excellent!" he beamed with tempered excitement, "I hope I can spare a few moments of your time Ms. Reinard."

"Certainly, depending on who I'm talking to, Mr...?" The vixen paused, waiting for the caller to identify himself.

"Toad, Beltino Toad." the amphibian supplied, "I'm overseeing a currently classified project for Space Dynamics Spectre Works, and I have a proposition for you if you're interested."

"What kind of proposal?"

"I'm sorry, but I can only discuss the details in-person." Beltino replied with a shrug, "This _is_ the Spectre Works, and they do love their industry secrets. What I _can_ say is that this opportunity pays well, and makes use of your particular skills and resources."

"_My _skills and resources?" The vixen repeated with almost a scoff, "I make documentaries, Mr. Toad. So does that mean I'd be putting something together about your project?"

Beltino toad let a wide smile answer her question without any words.  
"Meet me at Facility 32 at your earliest possible convenience – immediately if you're able."

"Excuse me?"

"You're at home, yes? I'll just send you some directions now..."  
The squat amphibian entered a quick series of commands into his own terminal.  
"It shouldn't take more than an hour or so to get here, if the traffic isn't horrible."

On the terminal display, small file shaped icon appeared in the bottom right corner of the comm window, indicating a piece of data has been sent through the current comm channel and is awaiting retrieval.

"Hold on a second!" The vixen exclaimed, "I can't just go now and leave my son home alone, he's not even five years old yet! I have to get a sitter for Fox first, or drop him off with someone and that's all going to take some time."

"Why not bring him along with you?" Beltino suggested, "The kids love seeing cutting-edge aerospace technology firsthand, it'll be fun for him."

Vixy paused for a moment, eyeing the smirking toad with a quiet suspicion.  
"Why are you calling me, really? Did~"

"I'll see you in an hour."  
Before she had a chance to finish, Beltino cut the conversation short. The window went dark, but the comm's attached file remained. After confirming the attachment was clean, Vixy downloaded and opened the file. It was an address for Facility 32, near the outlying suburb of Lancaster – exactly what Beltino Toad said it was.

The bewildered vixen swiveled the office chair away from the desk, taking a moment to think. This was supposed to be her day off, some time set aside so she wouldn't go insane with stresses of her work. If Space Dynamics wanted to commission a documentary piece, they could've contacted Vixy through a proper business medium. On the other hand, they do want to commission a piece, which usually guarantees some funding. And by the sound of it, Mr. Toad wanted to keep this initial meeting informal, even inviting her to bring Fox along...

Vixy turned back to the computer terminal and closed the blank comm window. The forum site she was browsing was still there, unchanged, but the Facility 32 address stood out on top in a window of its own. She stared at the screen a few moments longer, and a faint smile began to form on her cream colored muzzle.

The vixen stood up from the chair and left the office, carried by a lofty stride through the ground floor of the home. She continued past the dormant kitchen and dining area into the living room, brightly lit by the afternoon sunlight filtering through the large bay window, and saturated by the cheerful, upbeat banter from one of Fox's cartoon shows playing on the wall display. Vixy came around the sofa, and found her young son glaring back at the cartoons laser-like focus, sitting hunched forward in a thinking-man position with his short legs dangling over the edge.

Vivy plopped down on the sofa next to him, still retaining her  
"Get yourself ready Fox, we're going on a little trip."

"Where?" the vulpine child asked simply, not breaking his intense forward gaze.

The vixen laid a hand across Fox's shoulders and leaned down, whispering her answer in the boy's ear.  
"It's a surprise."

"But that means it's _boring._" he responded in an exasperated, twisting groan.

"You're sure about that?" Vixy inquired, squeezing her son tighter.

In response, Fox just crossed his arms over his chest, and glowered even harder at his cartoon show. He continued this silent pouting until his mother finally released him, and stood up over him.

"Then I guess _someone_ won't be getting any ice cream on the way," The vixen said with an exaggerated sigh as she turned and began to leave, "Do you know who that is, Fox?"

"It's not me!"  
In an instant, Fox McCloud's grumpy demeanor completely reversed. He bounded off the living room sofa toward the front door, racing past Vixy at an alarming speed.

"Wait up, Fox!" she called out, taking a moment to deactivate the living room's wall-mounted display screen before following her freshly enthused son.

* * *

A gentle breeze wafted beneath the cloudless midday sky across a featureless concrete expanse. At one edge of the expanse stood a row of bulky tent-like buildings –aerospace hangars– many of which simply sat in patient silence at the surrounding stillness. However, the busy flow of activity, churning inside the open doors of one of these otherwise indistinguishable hangar buildings, was undeniable.

An anxious groundcrew began to clear away from a compact fightercraft resting in the hangar's center, thinning out until the vehicle's elegant dagger shape was made clear, and only a single confident figure remained in its company. The figure was that of James McCloud, wearing a pilot's headset and nondescript blue flightsuit adorned with an embroidered patch marked 'Space Dynamics Spectre Works'. The vehicle was the fully functional prototype for a state-of-the-art multirole aerospace fightercraft, it was called the Space Dynamics XF-19 Arwing.

The craft's name was practically a joke. According to the stories, the name 'Arwing' was pulled off the fighter's blueprints before it even had a official name, when it was still just the XF-19. The variable-sweep-wing mechanism, widely considered an obsolete feature until new developments made it a feasible option again, was dubbed the 'Articulated Wing' by its designers and abbreviated 'Ar. Wing' on its schematics. When a small group of specially selected test pilots were shown the craft's blueprints for the first time, one of the pilots supposedly asked the engineers "What's this arwing thing?" much to their sniggering amusement. A more appropriate name might've been Pocket-Knife or Switchblade, but Arwing, complete with an annoying little inside joke, is what got stuck in everyones' heads.

_At least Spectre Works keeps even those little details under wraps. _

The vulpine pilot stood alone alongside the arwing, caressing its bladelike central fuselage with the steady hand of a master – the rider to a newly adopted steed. The fighter had come so far from when he first saw her original schematics: though individual component testing on other testbeds, through many mock-ups and scale-models, and through countless design alterations and minor tweaks. That long and winding road of development ultimately led to the elegant, final production model beneath James McCloud's expert hand, and the maiden flight he was about to take her on...

"Go put that bird in the air, McCloud." a single voice called out, echoing across the hangar bay, "We don't have all day to stand here and watch you fondle her." A few dull chuckles trickled out not too long after.

The blunt reminder from the groundcrew's foreman jolted James from his brief moment of solace with a slight flinch.  
"Yeah, yeah I'm on it..."  
Bristling with a hint of fluster, the fox hoisted himself over the Arwing's hull and into the open cockpit to begin the startup procedure.

After making himself comfortable strapped in the pilot's seat and sealing the canopy around him, James began to boot-up the fighter's avionics suite. Gradually, the dormant cockpit instruments came to life with the all the detailed, intuitive readouts and displays expected for a state-of-the-art combat fightercraft, plus a few extra systems specially fitted for flight testing. Seeing that the comm system had come online, the vulpine pilot synched his headset into the system and made contact on the designated channel.

"This is Spectre Two-Niner-Seven to ground team, I've got the avionics and low-power systems all booted-up and..." James paused a moment and punched a few commands into one of the instrument panels, "The flight data recorder is transmitting, you guys getting that?"

"_Ground team acknowledges, they're receiving a live feed from you now..." _The voice answering was that of the facility's traffic controller,_ "Velocity zero, relative altitude zero, looks about right."_

"Sounds a kinda boring over there..." The vulpine pilot began as he double-checked the arwings instruments, making sure everything was in working order. "How about I make things a little more interesting for you and all the other techies you've got listening in?"

"_They're all a bunch of jittery nervous wrecks at the moment; I mean, they _did_ just put their baby in the hands of a mercenary fighter pilot... Let's just light up that reactor for starters."_

"No problem, igniting the reactor now..."  
He entered another short sequence of commands, and the fighter's frame began to resonate with a gentle thrum of living power, as familiar to James McCloud as the steady bass beat of a favorite song. The Arwing's main reactor, its beating heart, was a cleverly designed aneutronic Ferromak compact fusion reactor; a miniaturized version of what was normally used in much larger capital-scale vessels for power generation or propulsion, but this little atomic meat grinder was used for both simultaneously. Judging by the reactor's output, plus further thrust generated by an integrated magnetoplasma accelerator, the Arwing was sure to be one hell of a mover.  
"You know, if it'll make them feel any better about putting their work in my hands, I've got a wife and kid back home who won't _ever_ forgive those gearheads if I go down because of something they built."

"_Between their skills as engineers and yours as a pilot, I'd say the chances of that happening today are slim to none."_

"Thanks for the vote of confidence..."  
A chime from the instruments reminded James of his current circumstances, and the fox continued his current pressing duties.  
"Primary power is online; bringing up the high-power systems now. G-Diffuser, thruster assembly, inertial compensator, shields..."  
With each component and subsystem James McCloud activated, another quiet sound added itself to the Arwing's ambient ensemble, giving a unique voice to the fightercraft as distinct as any person's...

"...weapons..."

Of course, the Arwing was more than just a speedy, nimble acrobat, she also came with a set of teeth that were nothing short of _vicious._ The sharpest of these teeth being the barely past experimental High-Energy/Rapid-Output (HERO) Pulsed Energy weapon system, which could either fire in full-auto pulses similar to most conventional systems, or charge up a single pulse for a concentrated blast...

"...and sensory suite. That's everything."

"_Okay McCloud, we're seeing all systems operating within expected standby parameters. How's it feel on your end?"_

"She's whispering to me..."  
For the very first time, James McCloud reached down and wrapped his practiced hand around the completed Arwing's joystick control column in a comfortable grip. In doing so, the vulpine pilot was taking the reins of a proud purring beast, made of metals, alloys, and composites, that had yet to be either weaned or tamed. Even on the ground, he could feel the Arwing's superb craftsmanship through the gentle undulating tremors of her many components, her vigorous vital organs, and could only imagine just how much this magnificent machine would be capable of.  
"...And I gotta say, she sounds _damn_ good."

"_Then let's see you make that beauty sing. You're all clear for takeoff."_

"You got it..."  
James Looked up from his instruments beyond the open hangar doors, and saw the cloudless blue sky outside invite him with the familiar open arms of an empty expanse. Responding to the invitation, he lifted the Arwing off the concrete floor and gently slipped into the stark brightness of midday, clearing away from the hangar building prior to takeoff. A few seconds and a few dozen meters further, the vulpine pilot paused a moment, placed his free hand on the throttle control and chose a distant point on the blank blue canvas before him.

_This never gets old..._

* * *

The narrow, slim fitting skirt of her semi-formal outfit wrapped tight around the legs, restricting mobility, and the matching jacket made her arms feel stiff, not to mention the precarious balancing act that is wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes. Whatever the reason women went through such trouble to make themselves presentable, it definitely wasn't comfort. But being a Department Head in the Cerinia Institute meant when it came time to meet with the Chief Director, the Boss, you were the one who had to appear worth talking to, which in turn meant claustrophobic outfits, hazardous footwear, and apparently a troubling amount of time spent waiting...

At the moment, Dr. Beverly Finch was pacing back and forth, carefully, in front of a fairly dull, utilitarian door considering it was the door to the office of Dr. Enos Andross, Chief Director of the Cerinia Institute. Exactly how long she'd been waiting there was hard to tell – seconds would gradually leak into minutes, minutes tend to clump together into not insignificant portions of an hour – then again, time often simply _feels_ longer when waiting for something, or someone...

"Beverly!"

The avian scientist turned rapidly around to the voice, nearly tripping herself in the process, and spotted an energetic figure at the end of the hallway heading her way. As the figure jogged his way closer, she saw that it was Dr. Andross himself, who'd opted for the 'disheveled professor' look of a sturdy, unbuttoned sportcoat over a plain sweater vest and collared shirt, and all a little roughed up. When the aging ape spoke, it was with such rapid, almost youthful enthusiasm that he seemed several years younger than he truly was – in fact, he even _looked_ younger.

"I hope you'll forgive the delay. I don't often get the chance to do much _real_ science anymore; touring Lylat, giving speeches, being an Icon and all that. Sometimes the spotlight and podium can be as much a cage as any prison cell. You don't mind if we walk and talk do you? I've never had much use for my office anyway..."

The question caught Finch by surprise.  
"Sure~"

Almost immediately, Dr. Andross took off again down the spartan hallway of the Cerinia Institute's offices, with Finch struggling to keep up with both the pace of his walk, and the pace of his talk.  
"I was in the Applied Physics and Engineering Department just now, where they're doing some of the most _fascinating_ things these days, and got caught-up in the thrill of it all. One of our fine research teams has just discovered a method by which electromagnetic emissions can be effectively canceled-out, similar to how sound can be canceled with more sound. It's not just an optical cloak mind you, but a complete spectrum phase-cancellation, as if the object doesn't even _exist_~"

"Dr. Andross," The avian scientist cut through the ape's tangled babbling, "there's something I need to talk with you about."

"Of course..."  
Enos came to a complete stop, and looked upon Dr. Finch with the kindly face of a concerned teacher ready to lay down his time and efforts to assist a pupil, or associate.  
"What's troubling you?"

"There's been another breakout from the Black sector." she answered flatly, with a voice that barely wavered under a tight control. "Two guards dead, three others badly injured, and several thousand credits worth of tangible damages – maybe more."

"How?"

"You know the kind of people we're being sent for this project. Some of them are smart, highly skilled, ruthless or just plain maniacal. There's only so much we're able to do to contain these... _monsters_..."

"But you _have_ been making significant progress, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."  
She paused a moment as she took a recuperating breath, but did not stop. Finch continued onward down the hall with Andross at her side, balancing on the unstable and unfamiliar high-heel shoes.  
"I was... I'm okay with the test subjects, I'm okay with using life-term prisoners for all this, but, they come with..." she struggled with the word, "_baggage,_ and it's getting awfully heavy."

"What's wrong Beverly?" Enos inquired, gently steering his avian colleague to one side for the time being.

"Do you know how many good people I've lost doing this? Do you know how many have _died_ under my direction?"  
She turned her gaze on Dr. Andross, with a pair of quietly haunted eyes that have witnessed horrors that couldn't be seen, and have kept them contained.  
"Twenty-three security personnel, seventeen general staff members, and five brilliant, irreplaceable experts in assorted scientific fields. I can't quantify losses like that. I can give credit values to destroyed equipment, time lost on a study when a subject breaks out, or even insurance payouts... but the lives..."  
Beverly cracked under the pressure over a stretched and strained moment, but there were no tears. Tears would've been appropriate, and should've been expected, but she instead remained frozen in place staring beyond herself in.

Responding to her distress, Enos took her winglike hand in the comforting embrace of his own, and reassured the avian scientist's in a calm, stoic voice of a sage.  
"Many more lives have been lost to causes nowhere _near_ as important as yours. We need you to be _strong_ Beverly, as you always have been..."

"I appreciate your sympathy Dr. Andross, and your optimism, but lets be realistic here..."  
Oddly, Finch snapped her composure back under control far quicker than seemed natural, and continued on this suddenly steady track.  
"I am doing all I can with everything at my disposal, and it's still not enough. We're going to have to scale this whole thing back~"

"That won't be necessary..."  
Andross cut her off, and started down the bare halls once again in his near-trademark confidence with Beverly Finch doing her best to keep up.  
"Clearly this is an issue of security. Fill out a PAE requisition form, discreetly, do _not_ give it to my secretary, and I'll make sure your department receives all necessary personnel and resources to keep the facilities as safe and secure as is feasible. Expert guards of the highest quality and better security systems should about do it."

"I've already checked out the available security solutions, and they're all way over what we can afford on the budget..."  
The avian scientist scraped a hand across the fine feathers on her forehead, a aggravated sigh as she went on.  
"This project issinking fast, Andross, and unless you intend to pull _millions_ of credits out of your ass to fund these refurbishments, we will _have_ to scale back."

Finch's harsh words stopped Dr. Andross dead in his tracks, and the graying ape simply stood there for a moment, inhaling and exhaling a single deep, chest-filling breath.  
"And what exactly did you think I was _doing_ all this time back in Lylat?..."  
Very slowly, Enos turned around, and revealed a cheerful face decorated with a sly, knowing smile.  
"I promise you Beverly, funding won't be an issue for the Cerinia Institute any longer, even in your clandestine department. Now you just fill out that requisition form, and I'll see that it's taken care of."

"I'll get on it..."  
The bird was watching the floor, and noticed when she looked up that Dr. Andross was already several meters ahead, and striding away fast to wherever he was heading next.

"Dr. Finch!"

She turned behind her to see who'd called, and found it was a laboratory-orderlies, one slated to be transferred into her department following the breakout. He was a lupine with a bright white fur tone, and a look of careful cunning in his violet colored eyes that became clearer as he approached. Beverly hoped for his own sake that he was ready for what he was getting into...

* * *

"So what you're saying is you want a glorified infomercial?" Vixy asked as they and an energetic Fox boarded a fairly cramped elevator.

"Do you _have_ to use that tone?" Beltino Toad responded as he maneuvered into the tight space, "You make it sound so..."

"It's really loud outside." A child's enthusiastic voice burst through growing silence, "But stuff I saw was so cool."

Vixy looked down to her son, sporting a look and vocal timbre that only a mom could pull off.  
"Fox..."

"But it _is_ cool, that's why I work here after all..."  
With a smirk on his lips, the squat amphibian struck a key on the control panel, and in a few moments the elevator began to rise.  
"Now of course this 'showcase' would be for promotional purposes, but there's a discipline and professionalism to the documentary format that we just can't get through advertising agencies. This isn't _toilet-paper_ we're selling, this is state-of-the-art cutting-edge aerospace technology. The product should practically sell itself so long as it's known about."

"If I'm going to bring something together around this new technology you're selling, it'll help me a lot if I know what I'm getting into. I can't even go into preproduction until you start peeling back at least _some _of these layers of secrecy for me..."  
The vixen paused a moment with a sudden thought.  
"In fact, you haven't said exactly _what_ your product is yet."

"And that is exactly _why_ I've brought you here..."

The elevator came to a stop, opening to the interior of a traffic control tower. The entire space was circled by panoramic windows that showed the Facility 32 airfield and hangars, and the clear blue Cornerian sky above. Immediately inside the windows were several banks of consoles and instruments, and a few with operators at the controls...

One of these operators in particular, a rusty brown spotted lynx, was deep in a focused conversation over the headset he wore.  
"I think that about does it for the flight test~"  
The feline controller stopped mid-sentence when Beltino tapped him on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in his tufted ear. The lynx looked curiously past the squat amphibian, and saw a slightly uncertain Vixy Reinard McCloud holding onto her fascinated young son for dear life.  
"Actually, hold that thought McCloud..." he motioned for Vixy and Fox to come, and they came. "We've got some very special folks here who I think would really enjoy talking with you..."

When the vulpine mother and child arrived at the lynx's station, the feline controller handed them an extra set of comm headsets to put on. carefully secured Fox's while Vixy took care of herself...

"Hello?" the little vulpine boy asked into the headset, "Anybody there?"

For several moments, the only thing transmitting through the channel was the blank space created by a stunned silence. The only thing to hear was the hum of equipment, and maybe a breath or two. Eventually though, there was a response on the comm, infused with a dad's quiet euphoria._  
"Hey buddy, what'cha you doing out here? I thought you were at home."_

"Mommy said we're going on a trip..." Fox answered, seemingly without a care in the world, then he hushed down to a whisper, "It's a _surprise._"

"_Ha!" _James let slip a laugh out over the channel. _"Then she sure surprised the heck outta _me_. Is Mommy there with you?"_

"Uh huh. We got ice cream."

"_Oh? What kind was it?"_

"Chocolate."

"_That's my favorite, I'll have to get me some of that."_

"You liar..." Vixy interrupted, more than a little eager to get in on the action. "Your favorite flavor's always been Jon & Barry's _Macho __Matcha_."

"_But it _used_ to be chocolate." _James retorted in defiant defense,_ "... so was this all your idea, Vix?"_

"No, actually." the vixen answered with a casual shake of her head, "I was invited here by Mr. Toad... for work..."

"_Is that so?"  
_The vulpine pilot sounded a little more than skeptical.

"I'm right here James." Beltino interjected, "And I can personally guarantee that your wife's presence is _strictly_ for matters of business."  
The olive green toad shot a playful wink toward Vixy.

"_Right..."_

"I can't find you Daddy..."  
Fox McCloud had ignored all the other chatter, and was peering through frustrated green eyes out one of the control tower's windows, tiny hands flattened against the windowpane.  
"Where are you?"

It took a moment for James to answer, but it was only a single moment._  
"... Look up."_

Fox did so, and spotted a tiny point against the spotless sky that grew larger and more defined with every passing second. In another few moments, the shape became the streaking shape of a bladelike fightercraft, swooping down from above in a nearly vertical dive. As the Arwing closed in on the ground, it began to level-out, descending and decelerating in an ever-tightening circle around the control tower until it became an easy and level orbit. The prototype fighter finally came to a stop, hovering mere meters outside the window, where after another few seconds it's canopy swung open to reveal an auburn furred vulpine pilot...

And there he was.

* * *

_When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return._

-Leonardo da Vinci-


End file.
